iSZTTiTTr^if^T 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


GIFT  OF 

Mary  Randall 


^^t^y^(^/.  /^^>^^a.ee^ 


GIFT 


DOREEN 


S)e^tcate^ 

IN  GRATITUDE  AND  REVERENCE 


The  Right-Honourable  W.  E.  GLADSTONE. 


He  might  have  had  the  World  with  him, 
But  chose  to  side  with  suffering  men 
And  had  the  World  against  him." 


M854161 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiiv^ 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/doreenstoryofsinOOIyalrich 


DOREEN- 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  A  voice  of  .  .  .  heavenly  sweetness,  with  that  reedy  thrill  in  it 
which  you  have  heard  in  the  thrush's  even-song." 

Olives  Wendell  Holmes. 

"Her  name  is  Doreen,"  said  Max  Hereford,  laying  em- 
phatic stress  on  the  last  syllable.  "  Why  do  you  insist  on 
calling  her  the  little  Colleen  Bawn  ?  " 

"  Because  she  invariably  wears  that  red  *  Colleen  Bawn ' 
cloak,"  replied  his  cousin  Miriam,  with  a  gleam  of  amuse- 
ment in  her  dark  eyes.  "Probably,  like  charity,  it  hides 
a  multitude  of  sins,  for  I  fancy  the  O'Ryans  are  very  poor 
and  of  the  shabby  genteel  sort.  My  old  French  governess 
would  have  called  the  cloak  a  '  Couvre  douleurJ' " 

"  Who  are  you  speaking  about,  my  dear  ? "  said  Mrs. 
Hereford,  looking  up  from  her  embroidery  frame. 

"Why,  aunt,  about  the  little  Irish  girl  that  Mr.  Des- 
mond and  Max  take  such  delight  in  studying.  We  found 
her  in  difficulties  one  day  with  Mr.  Foxell's  dog,  which 
was  frightening  her  small  brother  nearly  into  fits,  and  ever 
since  Max  has  done  nothing  but  rave  about  her  charming 
little  touch  of  the  brogue  and  her  bewitching  voice.  Sev- 
eral times  she  has  been  out  in  the  boat  with  us,  and  I  have 
been  obliged,  in  consequence,  to  play  the  unpleasant  part  of 
second  fiddle." 

"She  is  a  child  of  twelve  years  old,  mother,"  said  Max, 
leaving  John  Desmond,  his  tutor,  to  enter  a  protest  against 

1  B 


2  bOREEN' 

Miriam's  last  sentence,  '^the  jolliest  little  girl  you  ever 
saw.  She  and  her  mother  are  lodging  at  that  gray  house 
not  far  from  the  lodge.  Michael  —  that's  the  small  boy  — 
had  been  ill,  and  the  mother  seems  to  be  half  an  invalid." 

"  You  should  have  told  me  of  her  before,"  said  Mrs. 
Hereford.  ^'She  might  have  been  glad  to  borrow  books, 
for  this  lonely  country  place  must  be  dull  for  an  invalid. 
Is  she  as  Irish  as  her  daughter  ?  " 

"  No :  on  the  contrary,  she  is  English,  and  seems  quiet 
and  reserved,  and  as  if  she  had  lived  through  a  lot  of 
trouble.  I  can't  make  out  much  about  the  father,  except 
that  they  are  to  join  him  in  a  few  weeks'  time ;  I  fancy  he 
is  a  literary  man  of  some  sort:  Doreen  spoke  once  about 
his  writing." 

"  It  is  a  very  curious  name,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford. 

"It  makes  one  think  of  a  soup  tureen,"  said  Miriam, 
naughtily.  "Though  Max  will  declare  that  it  is  the  most 
beautiful  old  Irish  name  in  existence.  Nothing  offends 
him  more  than  to  lay  the  accent  on  the  first  syllable.  If  I 
call  the  child  Dor-een,  he  says  it  sounds  like  the  feminine 
of  John  Dory." 

"  She  certainly  has  the  most  beautiful  voice,"  said  John 
Desmond.  "  Could  we  not  make  her  sing  to  Mrs.  Here- 
ford?" 

Miriam  clapped  her  hands  with  delight  at  the  suggestion. 

"The  very  thing,"  she  exclaimed,  "to  pass  away  this 
dull  afternoon.  See,  it  does  not  rain  so  very  fast,  and  I 
am  sure  that  cloak  must  be  waterproof.  Do  go  and  fetch 
her.  Max,  and  tell  her  that  I  am  shut  in  with  a  bad  cold, 
and  want  to  be  amused." 

"  Stay ;  I  had  better  write  to  Mrs.  O'Ryan.  It  is  hardly 
civil  not  to  explain  to  her  that  I  am  unable  just  now 
to  call  upon  her;  and.  Max,  you  can  take  down  the  new 
*  Contemporary ' ;  she  might  like  to  see  it,"  said  Mrs.  Here- 
ford, turning  from  her  embroidery  frame  to  a  cosy  little 
writing-table  that  stood  by  the  hearth. 

The  mother  and  son  were  not  unlike  each  other.     Each 


DOREEN  3 

had  the  same  well-cut  features,  and  warm  English  colour- 
ing; and  though  Mrs.  Hereford's  light  brown  hair  was 
flecked  with  gray,  her  eyes  were  almost  as  bright  and 
frank  as  her  son's.  They  were  eyes  which,  once  seen,  could 
never  be  forgotten,  owing  to  their  curious  colour,  which 
some  people  called  light  hazel,  and  others  yellow,  but 
which  all  agreed  in  praising.  Mrs.  Hereford  had  the  ready 
wit  and  the  strong  character  which  not  unfrequently  accom- 
pany a  delicate  physique.  She  was  often  unable  to  take 
any  part  in  active  life,  but  she  had  never  for  a  single  day 
ceased  to  guide  and  influence  Max,  and  had  contrived  some- 
how, during  the  long  years  of  her  widowhood,  not  to  spoil 
him.  Others  had  done  their  best,  it  is  true,  to  flatter  and 
make  much  of  the  young  heir  of  Monkton  Verney,  but  the 
mother  had  loved  him  well  enough  to  deny  herself  the 
pleasure  of  indulging  him  to  her  heart's  content,  and  had 
done  her  best  to  mitigate  the  flattery  of  others. 

"You  must  not  make  him  a  prig,"  she  had  protested 
when  his  godmother  had  showered  down  upon  him  "  treas- 
uries of  devotion  "  and  manuals  of  self-examination. 

"  You  shall  not  over-amuse  him  and  make  him  hlas^  be- 
fore he  is  of  age,"  shei  had  said  plainly  to  Colonel  Here- 
ford, his  uncle  and  gtardian,  whose  idea  of  making  a 
schoolboy  happy  was  to  fill  his  pockets  with  money,  let 
him  fare  sumptuously  every  day,  and  take  him  to  the  play 
every  night. 

Max  was  now  eighteen ;  in  October  he  was  to  go  up  to 
Oxford,  and  for  some  months  John  Desmond  had  been 
coaching  him.  It  was  partly  in  order  that  he  might  have 
more  time  for  reading  that  Mrs.  Hereford  had  given  up 
the  usual  summer  visit  to  Switzerland,  anjj  had  taken  for 
three  months  an  old  castle  in  the  South  of  Ireland,  far 
removed  from  distractions  of  any  sort,  and  in  the  heart  of 
a  wild,  mountainous  district.  She  had  brought  her  niece 
with  her  as  a  companion;  and  Miriam,  tired  with  her  first 
London  season,  was  glad  enough  to  rest  and  read  novels, 
to  amuse  herself  in  a  cousinly  fashion  with  Max,  and  to 


4  DOREEN 

enjoy  tlie  tutor's  silent  admiration.  Life,  as  yet,  was  not 
at  all  a  serious  thing  to  her ;  she  was  just  playing  with  it 
in  a  happy,  contented  fashion,  with  a  firm  conviction  that 
the  future  must  infallibly  be  better  than  the  present,  and 
a  comfortable  sense  of  success  and  self-satisfaction  to  buoy 
her  up. 

The  little,  dreary,  gray  house  at  which  the  O'Ryans  were 
staying  stood  at  the  foot  of  a  mountain  called  Kilrourk, 
and  was  not  more  than  five  minutes'  walk  from  the  gates 
of  Castle  Karey.  Max,  having  inquired  for  Mrs.  O'Ryan, 
was  ushered  by  the  unkempt  but  pleasant-looking  landlady 
into  a  room  in  which  the  chairs  and  tables  were  pushed 
about  in  wild  disorder,  while  on  the  back  of  the  old-fash- 
ioned horsehair  sofa  sat  a  little  girl  with  her  arms  tied 
behind  her  and  a  pair  of  tongs  uncomfortably  dangling 
from  them. 

"  God  save  Ireland !  '^  she  cried.  Whereupon  the  small 
boy  who  mounted  guard  beside  her,  with  a  tin  pot  for  a 
helmet  and  a  brand-new  sixpenny  sword,  silenced  her  in 
the  most  peremptory  fashion. 

"  Eaith,  children,  and  whativer  is  it  that  you  are  afther, 
at  all,  at  all!"  exclaimed  the  landlady.  "Here  is  a  gin- 
tleman  from  the  Castle  come  to  see  the  misthress." 

Doreen,  who  had  been  sitting  with  her  back  to  the  door, 
started  up,  the  fire-irons  about  her  hands  and  feet  clanking 
dismally,  while  the  dragoon,  who  was  of  a  timid  nature, 
drooped  his  head  shyly,  whereupon  the  tin  pot  fell  with  a 
olatter  to  the  ground. 

"  I  can't  shake  hands  with  you,"  said  Doreen,  her  blue 
eyes  dancing  with  merriment.  "  We  are  playing  prisoners, 
and  I'm  heavily  ironed." 

"  And  who  is  this  ?  "  said  Max,  patting  Michael's  head 
reassuringly. 

"He's  an  English  dragoon  guarding  me.  I'm  John 
Mitchel,  and  have  got  fourteen  years'  transportation.  This 
sofa  is  the  prison  van,  and  we  are  driving  from  the  court, 
and  just  now  I  saw  a  great  crowd  and  asked  where  the 


DOREElSr  5 

people  were  going,  and  he  —  the  dragoon  —  told  me  they 
were  going  to  a  flower  show.  You  know  they  really  did 
say  that  to  Mitchel ;  but  it  was  a  lie  —  the  people  had  come 
because  they  loved  him." 

"  My  mother  has  sent  a  note  to  Mrs.  O'Ryan,  asking  if 
you  will  come  to  the  Castle,"  said  Max.  "  Should  you  be 
afraid  of  the  rain  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  of  the  rain,"  said  Doreen,  loftily ;  "  but  you  see 
I  can't  very  well  leave  home,  for  my  mother  is  lying  down 
with  one  of  her  bad  headaches." 

"  But  perhaps  the  house  would  be  quieter  if  you  came," 
said  Max.  Then,  seeing  that  he  had  said  quite  the  wrong 
thing,  "  I  mean,  of  course,  if  you  brought  the  dragoon  with 
you." 

"  It's  my  birthday,"  said  Michael,  rather  dismally,  *^  and 
we  was  going  to  pop  corn  over  the  kitchen  fire." 

"  We  have  a  fire  in  the  drawing-room,  summer  though  it 
is,"  said  Max ;  "  that  old  place  is  as  cold  as  a  bam.  Bring 
your  corn  with  you,  and  you  shall  show  me  how  to  do  it. 
And  there  are  real  helmets  and  swords  there  which  you 
will  like  to  see." 

The  armour  settled  the  question,  and  before  long  Max 
and  the  two  children  were  walking  along  the  dripping 
avenue  which  led  down  to  Castle  Karey. 

"Here  they  are,  mother,"  he  said,  taking  them  straight 
into  the  drawing-room;  and  Mrs.  Hereford,  looking  up 
somewhat  curiously,  saw  a  little  red-cloaked  figure,  with  a 
parcel  tucked  under  one  arm,  and  a  small  boy  clinging  to 
the  other. 

Doreen  was  small  for  her  age;  she  scarcely  looked  more 
than  ten  years  old.  She  had  a  little  pale,  winsome  face,  and 
a  thick  bush  of  dark  brown  hair ;  her  blue  eyes  were  shaded 
by  long  and  singularly  black  lashes;  and  the  face  was  of 
that  pure  Irish  type,  oval  in  shape,  with  rather  high  cheek- 
bones, finely  moulded  chin,  and  sweet  but  firm  mouth,  so 
often  to  be  met  with  in  the  South  and  West. 

"  I  am  glad  you  could  come,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford,  greet- 


6  DOREEN 

ing  the  little  couple  kindly ;  "  I  hope  you  did  not  get  very 
wet." 

"  Thank  you,  no ;  it  is  such  a  little  way :  but  if  you  will 
let  me  take  Michael  into  the  hall,  I  will  change  his  boots ; 
he  had  bronchitis  last  month,  and  we  have  to  be  careful 
with  him." 

There  was  something  so  captivating  in  the  silvery  voice, 
with  its  sweet  modulations,  and  in  the  little  motherly  air 
with  which  the  child  glanced  at  Michael,  that  Mrs.  Hereford 
bent  down  and  kissed  her. 

"  I  hope  you  have  your  own  shoes,  too,  in  that  parcel/' 
she  said. 

"No,"  said  Doreen,  "I  forgot  my  own;  but  it  doesn't 
matter,  because  I  am  quite  strong,  you  see." 

"  Miriam,  dear,  you  will  take  them  both  to  your  room,"  said 
Mrs.  Hereford,  "  and  see  if  you  cannot  find  some  slippers." 
And  Miriam,  who  was  the  most  good-natured  person  pos- 
sible, took  charge  of  the  two  children,  and  had  soon  made 
even  shy  Michael  quite  at  his  ease. 

Doreen  looked  wonderingly  around  the  great  panelled 
drawing-room  when  she  returned,  never  having  seen  before 
such  quaint  old  oak  furniture,  such  marvellous  crewel  work 
of  ancient  design,  such  stores  of  old-world  china.  Her 
little  eager  face  delighted  Mrs.  Hereford. 

"  Do  you  like  it  ?  "  she  said.  "  We  have  all  taken  a  fancy 
to  this  room." 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  beautiful  story-book  place  before," 
said  Doreen,  "  and  it  all  smells  so  lovely  and  old." 

They  laughed,  but  well  understood  what  she  meant;  for, 
indeed,  the  whole  Castle  had  that  old-time  atmosphere 
which,  indescribable  as  it  is,  lends  such  a  charm  to  the 
homes  of  generations  gone  by. 

"  Do  you  .  think  you  could  sing  to  my  mother  ? "  said 
Max.  "  I  want  her  very  much  to  hear  the  song  you  gave 
us  in  the  boat  last  week." 

"You  mean  *She  is  far  from  the  land,'"  said  Doreen; 
"but  the  worst  of   it  is,  that  is  almost  sure  to  make 


DOREEN  7 

Michael  cry :  he  seems  to  think  it  means  I  am  going  to  die 
when  that  bit  comes,  *  Oh,  make  her  a  grave/  It  is  very 
funny,  for  he  never  cries  at  *■  Kathleen  O'More.'  " 

"  You  don't  sing  that  with  the  tears  in  your  voice,"  said 
Michael ;  "  but  I  will  promise  not  to  cry,  if  directly  after 
you  will  sing,  *  'Tis  no  time  to  take  a  wife.'  " 

"  What  a  lugubrious  choice,"  said  Miriam,  laughing. 

"  Ah !  but  he  did  take  a  wife  in  spite  of  them  all,"  said 
Doreen.     "  You  will  see." 

And  with  a  happy  freedom  from  nervousness,  partly 
caused  by  her  youth  and  simplicity,  and  partly  by  the 
kindly,  uncritical  faces  around  her,  she  began  to  sing. 

Her  voice,  though  as  yet  untrained  and  immature,  was 
clear  and  sweet  as  a  bird's.  It  rang  through  the  old  room ; 
it  thrilled  through  Mrs.  Hereford's  heart  with  a  strange  inex- 
plicable power,  it  softened  Miriam's  bright  eyes,  it  lighted 
up  John  Desmond's  thoughtful  face,  and  it  filled  Max  with 
exultation.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  voice  was  in  some 
sense  his ;  he  delighted  in  having  been  the  one  to  discover 
such  a  treasure  in  this  lonely  Irish  hamlet. 

No  one  was  surprised  that  little  Michael  had  to  fight 
gallantly  in  order  to  keep  his  promise.  He  sat  wHth  his 
funny  little  face  rigidly  fixed,  lips  pressed  together,  eyes 
staring  hard  at  the  painting  of  the  Battle  of  the  Boyne  on  the 
opposite  wall,  while  in  his  mind  he  was  saying,  "  I'm  six 
years  old.     I  must  give  up  crying." 

But  it  was  all  very  well  to  theorize  in  this  fashion ;  the 
fact  remained  that  most  of  the  grown-up  folk  had  tears  in 
their  eyes  when  Doreen  sang,  — 

*'  She  sings  the  wild  song  of  her  dear  native  plains, 
Ev'ry  note  which  he  loved  awaking : 
Ah  !  little  they  think  who  delight  in  her  strains 
How  the  heart  of  the  minstrel  is  breaking. 

**  He  had  lived  for  his  love,  for  his  country  he  died, 
They  were  all  that  to  life  had  entwin'd  him  ;  — 
Nor  soon  shall  the  tears  of  his  country  be  dried, 
Nor  long  will  his  love  stay  behind  him." 


8  DOREEN- 

"  Who  is  it  all  about  ? ''  asked  Miriam,  at  the  end. 

"Father  told  me  it  was  about  Miss  Curran  who  was 
betrothed  to  Eobert  Emmet,"  said  Doreen. 

"  And  who  was  Robert  Emmet  ?  " 

The  child  opened  her  eyes  wide,  with  an  air  of  such  naive 
surprise  that  no  one  could  possibly  have  been  offended  by 
the  astonished  question  that  escaped  her. 

"  Didn't  they  teach  Irish  history  at  your  school  ?  Why, 
Robert  Emmet  was  one  of  our  greatest  patriots  !  They  hung 
him ;  Michael  and  I  often  go  up  the  Castle  steps  at  Dublin, 
and  he  is  buried  there  behind  a  high  wall  on  the  left  as  you 
go  up.  Of  course  we  can't  see  over,  you  know,  and  there 
would  be  nothing  but  grass  to  see  if  we  could.  It  is 
waiting,  as  he  wished,  for  its  epitaph,  till  Ireland  takes  her 
place  among  the  nations  of  the  earth." 

She  paused,  glanced  anxiously  at  Michael's  brimming  eyes, 
and  soon  made  them  all  laugh  with  the  blithe  song,  — 

"  'Tis  no  time  to  take  a  wife,  honest  John  O' Grady. 
When  the  land  is  filled  with  strife,  gallant  John  O' Grady. 
Who  can  think  of  beauty's  charms,  in  the  midst  of  war's  alarms  ? 
*  That  can  I,  to  be  sure  ! '  said  fearless  John  O' Grady." 

Her  humour  was  equal  to  her  pathos,  and  they  all  realized 
that  a  child  with  such  gifts  had  in  all  probability  a  great 
career  before  her.  And  yet,  somehow,  it  was  hard  to  think 
of  a  public  life  for  that  little,  simple,  innocent-faced  girl.  She 
was  so  fresh  and  sweet  and  pure  that  Mrs.  Hereford  shrank 
from  the  thought  of  what  she  might  become  in  that  wearing 
struggle  for  fame  which  is  the  greatest  test  of  character. 

"  Where  do  you  get  your  voice  from  ?  "  she  asked,  draw- 
ing the  child  down  to  the  sofa  beside  her.  "  Is  your  mother 
musical  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  my  father  sings  well,  though  he  has  never  been 
taught.     He  says  I  shall  be  taught  when  we  go  to  America." 

"  You  are  going  to  leave  Ireland,  then  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Doreen,  sighing.  "As  soon  as  father  comes 
back." 


DOREEN  9 

"You  will  be  sorry  to  leave  your  country,  I  am  sure/' 
said  Mrs.  Hereford.  "But  perhaps  your  father  has  been 
preparing  a  nice  home  for  you  over  in  America  ?  " 

Doreen's  blue  eyes  opened  wide,  with  a  puzzled  expression. 

"I  —  I  thought  you  knew,"  she  said.  "He  is  in  Port- 
land Prison." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Then  Max  struck  in 
quickly,  to  the  relief  of  every  one  else. 

"  For  his  political  views,  no  doubt,"  he  said. 

"  Oh  yes,"  rejoined  Doreen  quickly,  her  colour  rising,  "  of 
course  not  for  anything  wrong.  It  is  because  he  loved 
Ireland,  and  because  he  is  a  Fenian." 

"And  he  will  soon  be  with  you  again  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Here- 
ford gently,  taking  the  cjiild's  hot  little  hand  in  hers,  as  she 
spoke,  with  a  tender,  comforting  clasp  that  seemed  like  a 
caress. 

"  He  will  be  free  almost  directly  now,"  said  Doreen,  her 
eyes  lighting  up.  "We  are  to  meet  him  at  Queenstown  and 
to  sail  for  New  York.  It  seems  such  a  long,  long  time  since 
he  went  away,  though.  Of  course  we  go  to  see  him  now  and 
then,  but  it  is,  oh,  so  tantalizing.  For  the  first  few  weeks 
we  used  to  see  him  every  day  in  Richmond  Prison,  and  then 
in  Kilmainham ;  but  after  the  trial  he  was  sent  to  England, 
for  fear  the  Irish  people  should  rescue  him." 

"  Has  he  been  in  prison  a  long  time  ?  "  asked  John  Des- 
mond. 

"  About  five  years,"  said  Doreen.  "  Michael  can't  remem- 
ber the  time  when  he  lived  at  home.  Of  course  he  was 
quite  a  baby ;  but  I  was  seven,  and  can  remember  just  how 
he  looked  the  morning  they  arrested  him.  He  had  not  been 
to  bed  at  all  that  night,  because  mother  was  ill,  and  he  was 
too  anxious  to  leave  her.  He  had  been  writing  letters  in 
her  room,  and  by  and  bye  came  downstairs  to  say  she  was 
asleep ;  and  he  let  me  seal  his  letters,  and  afterwards  I  sat 
on  his  knee,  making  patterns  on  my  arm  with  the  seal  he 
wore  on  his  watch-chain.  It  had  a  cross  and  an  anchor,  and 
was  shaped  like  a  shamrock  leaf.     I  suppose  we  were  talk- 


10  DOREEN 

ing  and  laughing  together;  for  we  never  heard  what  was 
going  on  till  all  at  once  three  men  came  into  the  room,  and 
one  of  them  strode  up  to  my  father,  and  thrusting  his  hand 
between  us  laid  it  on  father's  shoulder  and  told  him  that  he 
arrested  him,  and  showed  him  a  paper.  At  first  I  wasn't 
frightened,  only  surprised.  I  didn't  understand  what  they 
were  talking  about ;  but  when  I  looked  into  father's  face,  I 
began  to  be  terrified,  for  it  had  quite  changed.  I  think  he 
was  full  of  anger  and  grief.  They  let  him  go  upstairs  with 
one  of  the  men  to  say  good-bye  to  my  mother,  and  the  men 
who  were  left  took  up  all  the  letters  that  were  on  the  table 
where  I  had  been  sealing  them,  and  turned  out  father's  desk 
and  hunted  everywhere  for  papers.  But  when  I  began  to 
cry,  one  of  them  was  very  kind  to  me ;  he  looked  so  sorry 
for  me  that  I've  always  sort  of  liked  policemen  since.  He 
said,  '■  Don't  cry,  my  pretty  little  maid.' 

"Then  father  came  down  once  more,  and  his  face  was 
changed  again  —  it  looked  very  still  and  strong;  he  took 
me  up  in  his  arms  and  kissed  me  a  great  many  times,  and 
when  he  said,  '  Take  care  of  mother  and  little  Michael  till 
I  come  back,'  Ms  voice  was  changed,  too,  so  that  I  hardly 
knew  it.'^ 

Kemembering  the  injunction  to  take  care  of  Michael,  she 
glanced  round  with  an  uneasy  consciousness  that  he  was  too 
quiet,  and  began  to  make  many  apologies  when  she  found 
that  he  had  emptied  his  little  paper  bag  of  corn  on  to  the 
hearth  rug  and  was  carefully  choosing  out  the  largest 
grains.  It  was  something  of  a  relief  to  turn  from  the 
startling  story  of  the  Eenian  father  to  the  children's  funny 
explanation  of  the  mysteries  of  corn-popping.  "It's  the 
way  you  find  out  if  your  friendships  are  going  to  last,"  said 
Doreen,  as  Miriam  set  on  the  fire  the  little  copper  skillet  for 
which  she  had  asked.  "  There  is  a  grain  of  corn  for  each  of 
us,  and  now  we  must  choose  pairs.  You  must  choose  first," 
and  she  looked  up  at  her  hostess,  her  blue  eyes  no  longer  sad 
with  memories,  but  brimming  over  with  laughter  and  enjoy- 
ment of  the  game. 


DOREEN  II 

"  I  will  choose  Michael,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford. 

"  And  I  will  choose  Mr.  Desmond,"  said  Miriam,  with  a 
coquettish  glance  at  the  tutor. 

"  Then  that  means  that  we  two  are  together,"  said  Doreen, 
composedly,  drawing  Max  towards  the  hearth  and  making 
him  drop  his  grain  of  corn  into  the  skillet  beside  hers. 
"  Now  we  must  watch  and  see  how  they  pop." 

The  first  to  go  were  Mrs.  Hereford's  and  Michael's ;  they 
popped  just  as  they  should  have  done,  inside  the  skillet. 

"  You  and  I  will  be  friends  for  ever  and  ever,"  said  the 
child,  clapping  his  hands.  "  I  wonder  if  you'll  be  so  lucky, 
Doreen." 

"  No,"  said  the  little  sister.  "  It  hardly  ever  comes  that 
more  than  one  pair  are  lucky.  Ah,  there  goes  Mr.  Des- 
mond !  Sure,  and  it's  you  that  will  be  breaking  your  friend- 
ship ;  for  it  popped  outside  and  flew  right  towards  you,  and 
there  goes  the  other  popping  inside.  It  will  be  all  your 
fault.  What  a  long  time  ours  do  take.  At  last !  there  they 
go !  Oh  dear,  dear !  No  luck  at  all  for  us ;  our  grains  both 
popped  outside !  That  means  that  we  shall  both  agree  to 
separate.  I'm  never  lucky  at  corn-popping  unless  I  pair 
with  Michael,  and  we  always  stay  friends." 

"  Then  I  shall  make  hay  while  the  sun  shines,"  said  Max, 
laughing.  "  And  to-morrow  you  must  come  again  with  us 
in  the  boat." 


CHAPTER  II. 

**  Rent  in  other  countries  means  the  surplus  after  the  farmer  has 
been  liberally  paid  for  his  skill  and  labour  ;  in  Ireland  it  means  the 
whole  produce  of  the  soil  except  a  potato-pit.  If  the  farmer  strove  for 
more,  his  master  knew  how  to  bring  him  to  speedy  submission.  He 
could  carry  away  his  implements  of  trade  by  the  law  of  distress,  or 
rob  him  of  his  sole  pursuit  in  life  by  the  law  of  eviction."  —  Charles 
Gavan  Duffy,  Young  Ireland. 

After  dinner  that  evening,  the  talk  naturally  enough 
turned  upon  the  story  which  little  Doreen  had  told.  It  was 
not  difficult  to  fill  in  the  gaps  that  had  occurred  in  the  child's 
account,  and  John  Desmond  seemed  well  up  in  all  the 
details  of  the  Irish  troubles  five  years  before. 

"One  has  grown  so  accustomed  to  regard  Fenian  and 
fiend  as  equivalent  terms,"  said  Miriam,  "that  it  almost 
took  one's  breath  away  to  hear  that  pretty  little  girl  talk- 
ing of  the  arrest  as  she  did,  and  counting  the  days  till  her 
father  is  released." 

"  Yet  to  Irish  ears  Fenian  suggests  all  sorts  of  memories 
of  the  heroic  deeds  of  the  Feni,  or  companions  of  Finn,  one 
of  the  noblest  of  all  the  warriors  in  Irish  history,"  said  Des- 
mond. "I  have  no  doubt  Doreen  O'Ryan  could  tell  you 
plenty  of  the  legends  connected  with  his  name." 

"  But  her  father,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford.  "  Do  you  imagine 
he  is  one  of  those  desperate  wretches  who  caused  the  ex- 
plosion at  Clerkenwell  ?  " 

"  No ;  those  were  a  few  desperadoes,  and  the  genuine 
Fenians  utterly  repudiated  all  connection  with  them.     He 

12 


DOREEIsr  13 

must,  of  course,  have  been  mixed  up  with  the  insurrection 
in  some  way  —  possibly  was  on  the  staff  of  that  paper  of 
theirs." 

"'Tis  ahnost  enough  to  make  one  pardon  the  wildest 
schemes  for  reform  to  see  the  state  of  things  in  this  place," 
said  Max.  "  I  wonder  what  sort  of  man  Lord  Byfield  is  to 
allow  it." 

"  Oh,  he  is  a  good  enough  fellow,"  said  Desmond.  "  But 
he  detests  this  place.  They  say  he  hasn't  been  here  for 
years,  and  leaves  everything  to  that  brute  Foxell,  his  agent. 
I  hate  that  man,  with  his  arrogant  manner,  and  his  way  of 
talking  of  the  tenants  as  though  they  were  pigs." 

"  The  pigs  that  pay  the  rent ! "  said  Max,  with  a  laugh. 
"  He  is  a  bully,  and  the  people  detest  him.  I  don't  know 
which  is  the  greater  brute,  himself  or  his  dog." 

"  You  are  very  rough  on  the  dog,"  said  Desmond ;  "  the 
man's  not  worthy  to  be  named  in  the  same  day  with  him ! " 

"  Come,  Max,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford,  "  let  us  have  our  game 
of  backgammon ;  I  must  have  my  revenge  on  you  for  last 
night." 

The  tutor  wandered  away  to  the  other  end  of  the  draw- 
ing-room, where  Miriam  was  playing  a  sad  little  Polish 
melody  of  which  he  was  specially  fond.  She  looked  up  at 
his  approach,  with  smiling  welcome  in  h«r  brown  eyes. 
Her  grandmother  had  been  a  Jewess,  and  Miriam  had  inher- 
ited her  beauty :  there  was  something  very  fascinating  about 
her,  and  few  could  resist  the  spell.  Max  had  been  under 
it  more  or  less  all  his  life,  though  he  knew  Miriam's  faults 
well  enough ;  even  Mrs.  Hereford,  though  strongly  disap- 
proving of  some  of  her  niece's  proceedings,  clung  to  the 
girl  with  an  affection  which  she  could  not  feel  towards  some 
perhaps  more  deserving  of  favour.  That  Miriam  after  a 
brilliantly  successful  London  season  should  be  in  danger 
of  falling  in  love  with  the  tutor  never  occurred  to  her 
aunt.  Desmond  was  poor  and  plain,  —  a  sallow  man  with 
a  very  high  but  somewhat  narrow  forehead,  and  dark  wild- 
looking  eyes,  which  seemed  out  of  keeping  with  the  quiet, 


14  DOREEN 

sedate  manner  and  ordinary  face.  "  He  is  a  mixture  of  the 
Quaker  and  the  brigand,"  had  been  Miriam's  naughty  criti- 
cism when  she  had  first  met  him.  But  little  by  little  his 
silent  admiration  began  to  tell  upon  her ;  she  began  to  look 
up  to  him,  to  value  his  opinion.  A  reverence  which  she  had 
never  before  felt  for  any  one  took  possession  of  her  heart; 
she  realized  that  his  love  for  her  was  something  more  than 
admiration  for  her  face,  and  that  afternoon,  as  little  Doreen 
had  sung  to  them,  she  had  known  for  the  first  time  that 
she  loved  John  Desmond.  A  sort  of  delicious,  dreamy 
happiness  filled  her  heart  as  he  sat  beside  her  in  the  dimly 
lighted  room.  She  played,  every  now  and  then,  quiet, 
dreamy  music  in  accordance  with  her  mood,  but  for  a  great 
part  of  the  time  they  talked  —  that  new,  sweet,  confiden- 
tial talk  that  was  infinitely  more  charming  to  her  than  the 
badinage  and  the  compliments  of  which  she  had  grown  very 
weary  in  London. 

She  slept  little  that  night,  but  kept  living  over  again  all 
the  delicious  hours  of  the  afternoon  and  evening,  so  that 
naturally  enough  the  morning  found  her  worn  and  tired 
and  quite  in  a  mood  to  yield  to  her  aunt's  advice,  and  keep 
in  bed  for  a  few  hours  in  the  hope  of  curing  her  cold. 

Desmond,  finding  that  there  was  no  chance  of  seeing  her 
before  five  o'clock  tea,  proposed  that  he  and  Max  should 
walk  across  the  mountains  to  Lough  Lee,  where  he  had 
hopes  of  finding  a  certain  rare  plant  for  which  he  had  long 
sought  in  vain. 

"  Let  us  at  the  same  time  keep  our  promise  to  Doreen, 
and  take  her  with  us  on  the  pony,"  said  Max.  "  The  child 
is  longing  to  see  that  lake  about  which  she  was  telling  us 
some  old  legend." 

Doreen's  delight  when  the  tutor  and  his  pupil  arrived  at 
the  little  gray  lodging-house,  leading  a  mountain  pony  for 
her  special  use,  was  pretty  to  see.  She  came  running  out 
to  meet  them. 

"  You  are  sure  the  day  will  not  be  too  much  for  you  ?  " 
asked  Max ;  "  the  lake  is  many  miles  off,  even  by  this  short 
cut  over  the  mountains," 


DOREEJV  15 

"  Oh  no,"  she  protested,  "  I  could  go  all  day  long  on  a 
pony,  it  is  only  such  a  pity  that  it's  too  far  for  Michael ;  but 
I've  promised  to  tell  him  all  about  it,  and  to  bring  him  a 
great  bunch  of  flowers.  I  believe  he  thinks  Lough  Lee  is  a 
sort  of  fairy  place,  and  he  will  expect  me  to  see  Ugly  Gilla 
Dacker  and  his  horrible  horse,  or  Dermot  of  the  Bright 
Face,  or  some  of  those  people." 

Max  made  her  tell  them  about  the  brave  Feni,  in  the  days 
of  old.  Her  silvery  voice  would  have  made  the  dullest 
legend  charming;  and  though  Desmond  was  all  the  time 
longing  for  another  voice  and  another  face,  he  was  fain  to 
own  that  the  child  was  a  delightful  companion. 

The  day  was  fine  though  somewhat  gray;  but  as  they 
climbed  higher  over  the  rock-strewn  ground,  the  sun  came 
out  brightly  for  a  time,  glorifying  the  well-known  outline 
of  the  range  of  hills  which  were  seen  from  the  Castle  win- 
dows, and  revealing  exquisite  glimpses  of  the  Kerry  moun- 
tains. By  and  bye  they  descended  to  the  right,  into  a  valley, 
and  emerging  upon  a  rough  tract,  wound  down  into  the 
road  which  led  to  the  gloomy  and  desolate  lake. 

Doreen's  face  was  a  curious  study.  Here  was  the  place 
she  had  dreamed  of  so  long,  and  it  was  not  the  least  like 
her  dreams.  It  was  indescribably  sad-looking;  its  very 
beauty  seemed  so  steeped  in  melancholy,  that  all  her 
romance  of  the  past  was  stricken  dead,  and  a  sense  of 
oppression  fell  upon  her,  sadly  spoiling  her  happiness. 

Max,  to  distract  her  attention,  began  to  tell  her  about  the 
walks  near  his  home  at  Monkton  Verney,  of  the  little  lake 
in  the  garden  with  its  water-lilies,  and  the  old  ruined  priory 
in  the  park,  and  of  the  heath  hills  and  fir  hills  down  which 
she  would  enjoy  running. 

And  soon  in  the  excitement  of  getting  into  the  boat  and 
of  being  allowed  to  steer,  Doreen  recovered  her  spirits 
and  began  to  sing  merry  songs  in  spite  of  the  excessive 
gloom  of  this  desolate  spot.  It  was  impossible  to  be  melan- 
choly for  any  length  of  time  with  a  companion  like  Max. 
It  was  not  that  he  was  specially  witty,   but  his  whole 


l6  DOREEAr 

aspect  was  so  full  of  cheerfulness,  he  so  thoroughly  en- 
joyed life,  that  he  carried  about  him  a  sort  of  atmosphere 
of  lightheartedness  which  insensibly  affected  his  compan- 
ions. They  laughed  and  talked  and  sang  and  jested,  while 
John  Desmond,  intent  on  spoils,  made  them  land  him  every 
few  minutes  to  search  for  that  insignificant  but  rare  plant 
which  their  careless  eyes  were  little  likely  to  discover. 
Doreen,  cosily  ensconced  in  the  stern,  looked  with  the  inno- 
cent admiration  of  a  child  at  the  sunburnt,  glowing  face 
opposite  her,  with  its  light  brown  hair  and  the  incipient 
moustache  of  which  the  owner  was  secretly  vain,  and  the 
well-opened,  fearless  eyes  which  seemed  full  of  sunshine. 
And  Max  felt  strangely  drawn  to  this  merry  little  girl  in 
the  familiar  red  cloak;  the  sweet  voice  and  the  rippling 
laughter  fairly  bewitched  him :  little  did  he  think  that  this 
hour  on  the  lake  was  destined  to  be  the  last  hour  of  her 
childhood  and  the  last  hour  of  his  own  careless  youth. 

"  Let  us  row  across  to  the  further  side,"  said  Desmond ; 
"  steer  for  that  cabin  from  which  the  smoke  is  rising." 

Doreen  glanced  across  the  water  and  saw  that  from  a 
little  roughly  built  cabin  the  turf  fire  was  sending  up  a  curl- 
ing column  of  blue  smoke. 

"  What  a  dreary  place  to  live  in ! "  she  exclaimed ;  "  but 
see,  there  is  a  nice  clearing  all  round  it  at  the  back.  I 
don't  see  where  you  can  land  very  well,  for  the  rocks  fall 
sheer  away  down  to  the  water  from  the  cabin." 

Max  turned,  and  descried  a  possible  landing-place  a  few 
yards  to  the  right  of  the  hut,  and  Doreen,  anxious  to  steer 
them  with  the  utmost  precision,  broke  off  in  the  midst  of 
singing  the  "Minstrel  Boy,"  and  concentrated  her  whole 
attention  on  her  work.  In  the  silence  that  followed,  the 
sound  of  voices  reached  them  distinctly  from  the  shore. 

"  There  is  a  woman  crying ! "  exclaimed  Doreen,  a  star- 
tled, pitying  look  stealing  over  her  face. 

Desmond  turned  round  to  see  whence  the  noise  proceeded, 
and  they  soon  perceived  two  men  standing  on  the  little 
patch  of  ground  before  the  cabin,  while  in  the  open  doorway 


DOREEhr  If 

a  woman,  with  her  apron  thrown  over  her  head,  was  sobbing 
aloud  with  a  wild,  unrestrained  grief  that  shook  her  from 
head  to  foot.  The  men  were  talking  together,  evidently  on 
some  vexed  question. 

"  What's  up,  I  wonder,"  said  Max.  "  Why,  look,  'tis  Mr. 
Foxell,  the  agent ;  see  how  the  fellow  blusters,  and  how  he 
threatens  the  old  man ! " 

"It's  old  Larry,  our  potato  man!"  exclaimed  Doreen. 
"  He  comes  every  week  with  his  donkey-cart  and  sells  us 
things.     Oh,  look  !  look  !  how  angry  he  is  with  him  ! " 

"  Pull  to  shore  as  fast  as  you  can,"  said  Desmond,  a  look 
of  fury  in  his  dark  eyes.  He  leapt  out,  and  Max  followed 
him,  eager  to  see  what  was  passing. 

"  You  had  better  stay  in  the  boat,"  he  said  to  Doreen. 
"  The  agent  seems  in  such  a  temper,  I  should  not  like  you 
to  come  near  him." 

The  child  obeyed,  not  much  liking  to  be  left  all  alone, 
but  too  much  absorbed  in  the  loud  altercation  which  she 
could  plainly  hear  from  the  little  plateau  above  her  to  have 
much  leisure  for  fear.  She  let  the  boat  drift  out  a  little, 
so  that  she  could  see  what  was  passing  by  the  cabin.  Max 
stood  by  the  open  door,  among  a  whole  litter  of  little  pigs, 
talking  to  the  woman,  whose  wailing  had  ceased ;  but  John 
Desmond  had  stepped  in  between  old  Larry  and  the  agent, 
and  was  vehemently  arguing  in  the  poor  old  peasant's 
defence. 

"  Because  the  man  has  made  a  garden  out  of  a  wilderness, 
because  he  has  toiled  while  the  landlord  played,  and  starved 
while  the  landlord  feasted,  you  double  his  rent.  That  is 
your  devilish  plan!"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  that  appalled 
Doreen. 

"  Allow  me  to  remind  you,  sir,"  said  the  agent  angrily, 
"that  'tis  not  the  part  of  a  meddlesome  tourist  to  interfere." 

"  Look  at  my  petaty  patch,  yer  honour,"  moaned  old  Larry. 
"  Sure  it  was  just  a  disused  stone  quarry,  with  niver  a  grain 
o'  soil,  till  on  me  own  back  I  carried  the  airth  to  it,  little  by 
little,  and  a  mortal  time  it  took,  and  now  he  asks  rint  for 


1 8  DOREEKT 

the  land  I  made  wid  me  own  hands,  and  if  I  don^t  pay 
it,  —  and  the  blissed  saints  know  it's  just  that  I  can't  do  that 
same,  —  he  will  pull  down  the  cabin  that  I  built  myself. 
Sure,  and  I'm  an  ould  man  to  begin  all  over  again."  He 
turned  away  and  began  to  sob  like  a  child. 

"  You  d d  hypocrite  ! "  said  the  agent.     "  Have  done 

with  that  nonsense,  and  don't  waste  any  more  of  my  time. 
The  place  is  worth  double  what  it  was,  and  you  shall  pay 
or  go." 

"Til  not  go!"  wailed  the  old  man,  facing  round  upon 
the  agent,  in  a  passion  of  wrath  and  grief.  "  It's  bin  my 
home  long  years  before  your  cruel  face  was  iver  seen  at 
Castle  Karey,  and  I'm  cursed  if  I'll  lave  it." 

"  Then  I  shall  have  it  pulled  about  your  ears,"  said  the 
agent. 

"  Shame  !  Shame  ! "  cried  Desmond.  "  I'll  have  this 
case  exposed  in  the  papers  —  'tis  not  to  be  borne." 

"No  cockneys  here,  please,"  said  Foxell  insolently,  his 
bull-dog  face  darkening  with  anger. 

"I,  too,  am  an  Irishman,"  said  Desmond,  for  the  first 
time  feeling  that  thrill  of  patriotism  which  reminded  him 
that  although  English  by  education,  he  had  yet  Irish  blood 
in  his  veins. 

"Then  one  stick  will  serve  for  the  two;  for  insolence 
there's  not  a  pin  to  choose  between  you,"  said  Foxell,  irri- 
tated to  the  last  degree;  and,  seizing  Larry  by  his  shirt 
collar,  he  was  about  to  bring  his  knotted  walking-stick 
down  on  the  old  man's  bent  shoulders,  when  Desmond, 
maddened  by  the  sight,  sprang  forward  and  wrenched 
it  from  his  hand.  Both  were  now  beside  themselves  with 
anger;  they  closed  with  each  other  and  fought  with  a  fury 
which  terrified  Doreen.  She  saw  Max  hurry  down  from 
the  cabin  door  and  try  to  induce  them  to  stop.  He  might 
as  well  have  spoken  to  two  wild  beasts ;  for  their  blood  was 
up,  and  nothing  now  would  quiet  them.  The  fight,  though 
it  seemed  long,  was  in  reality  brief  enough;  nearer  and 
yet  nearer  the  two  struggling  figures  drew  to  the  verge  of 


DOREEN  19 

the  rock  overhanging  the  lake :  it  seemed  to  Doreen  that 
they  would  both  be  hurled  over  into  the  water,  and  in 
deadly  terror  she  rowed  close  into  the  little  cove  where 
they  had  landed. 

The  combatants  were  still  visible.  She  could  plainly  see 
Desmond's  wild  eyes  with  their  horrible,  gleaming  light; 
then  suddenly  she  saw  the  agent's  grip  relax ;  his  hand  fell 
back  from  Desmond's  throat;  she  caught  just  one  glimpse 
of  a  dreadful,  distorted,  blackened  face,  as  he  fell  back  from 
the  rock.  There  was  a  splash,  an  exclamation  of  horror 
from  Max;  then  the  waters  of  Lough  Lee  closed  over 
James  Foxell. 

For  a  minute  Doreen  sat  motionless;  she  seemed  para^ 
lyzed  with  horror ;  it  was  with  intense  relief  that  she  saw 
Max  plunging  down  between  the  arbutus  trees  that  sur- 
rounded the  landing-place. 

"  Steer  to  the  place  where  he  sank,"  he  exclaimed,  spring- 
ing into  the  boat  and  pushing  off  from  the  shore.  With 
trembling  hands  Doreen  grasped  the  tiller,  ashamed  of  the 
terror  that  seized  upon  her  when  she  thought  of  again 
beholding  that  dreadful  face.  "Perhaps  he  is  not  really 
dead ;  perhaps  we  may  save  him,"  she  said  to  herself,  fixing 
her  eyes  steadily  on  the  spot  where  the  agent  had  disap- 
peared, and  putting  force  upon  herself  to  steer  to  the  very 
best  of  her  ability.  All  at  once  a  little  cry  escaped  her ; 
for,  looking  steadfastly  at  the  water,  she  saw  that  dreadful 
vision  rise  again  to  the  surface.  Max  made  a  desperate  but 
ineffectual  effort  to  lay  hold  of  the  body ;  for  one  moment 
he  grasped  the  short  wet  hair,  but  it  was  dragged  down- 
wards; it  slid  through  his  fingers,  and  again  the  waters 
closed  over  Foxell.  The  boy  —  pale  through  all  his  sun- 
burning —  dropped  back  into  his  place  in  the  boat,  panting 
for  breath. 

"  He  was  quite  dead,"  he  said  after  a  moment,  glancing 
up  at  Doreen.  "  But  perhaps  he  will  rise  again ;  we  wiU 
wait  and  see." 

They  waited  in  silence  for  what  seemed  to  Doreen  a  long 

c2 


20  DOREEN" 

time;  the  dreadful  gloom  of  the  place  grew  more  and  more 
intense.  If  she  looked  at  the  purple  mountains  surrounding 
them,  she  fancied  fiends  hideously  staring  at  them  from 
among  the  gray  boulders ;  if  she  looked  into  the  lake,  its 
dark  waters  seemed  as  though  peopled  by  endless  repeti- 
tions of  that  dreadful,  distorted  face  which  must  for  ever 
haunt  her  memory. 

"  It's  no  use  waiting  longer,"  said  Max  at  length.  "  I 
suppose  it  must  have  caught  in  the  reeds  at  the  bottom 
and  will  not  float  up  again." 

"  But  what  will  they  do  to  Mr.  Desmond  ?  "  cried  Doreen, 
her  eyes  dilating,  as  a  terrible  thought  for  the  first  time 
occurred  to  her.  "  They  will  say  he  murdered  that  man ; 
he  will  be  hung  or  kept  in  prison ! " 

"They  will  probably  call  it  murder,"  said  Max  with  a 
shudder.  "  But,  Doreen,  if  ever  I  saw  a  man  mad,  —  for 
the  time  quite  mad,  —  why,  it  was  he.  Did  you  see  his 
eyes  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Doreen,  "  they  looked  wild  and  dreadful ;  he 
was  quite  changed.  If  people  ask  us  how  it  all  happened, 
we  can  explain  to  them  that  he  was  mad.  Oh,  don't  leave 
me  alone  in  the  boat,"  she  added,  as  Max  sprang  ashore  at 
the  landing-place. 

He  was  too  much  agitated  to  have  very  much  thought 
for  her  just  then,  but  he  turned  and  held  out  his  arms  to 
her,  and  lifted  her  on  to  dry  ground;  then,  with  knees 
trembling  beneath  her,  she  toiled  after  him  up  the  bank, 
among  the  holly  bushes  and  the  arbutus  trees,  and  followed 
him  across  the  open  ground  beyond,  to  the  cabin.  Every 
one  had  gone  inside,  even  the  pigs,  and  old  Larry  and  his 
wife  were  talking  fast  and  eagerly.  John  Desmond  sat 
on  a  three-legged  stool  beside  the  turf  fire ;  his  face  was 
flushed;  there  was  a  strange  look  in  his  dark  eyes;  he 
was  quite  silent,  and  took  no  notice  of  their  entrance. 

"He  must  have  been  unconscious  when  he  fell,"  said 
Max  to  Larry.  "  The  body  only  rose  once  to  the  surface, 
and  I  couldn't  lay  hold  of  it." 


DOREEl^  4! 

"All  the  better,  sir,"  said  Larry  gravely.  "'Tis  eighty 
feet  dai>e,  and  it  do  be  makiii'  a  safe  grave.  I  take  it 
he'll  lie  as  aisy  down  there  among  the  reeds  as  iver  he'd 
a  done  in  churchyard  mould  ;  and  may  God  have  mercy  on 
his  sowl ! " 

As  he  spoke,  the  old  man  thrust  into  the  fire  the  knotted 
stick  that  the  agent  had  let  fall  when  he  closed  with 
Desmond. 

"  What  do  you  do  that  for  ?  "  asked  Max. 

"  Sure  thin,  yer  honour,  'tis  the  last  of  the  man  that's 
lift,''  said  Larry.  "  His  hat  was  made  fast  with  a  string 
through  his  buttonhole  and  will  tell  no  tales.  And  now 
this  stick  is  kindlin'  line,  and  there  won't  be  the  laist 
little  small  bit  to  git  his  honour  there  into  throuble.'^ 

Desmond  looked  up.  "  What  is  that  you  are  saying  ?  " 
he  asked,  as  if  his  mind  had  just  awaked  to  the  present. 

"We  say,  your  honour,  that  we  will  niver  spake  one 
word  of  what  we  heard  and  saw  awhile  since.  You  stood 
by  us,  and,  by  the  eras  o'  Christ,  we'll  stand  by  you. 
Norah,  swear  the  same." 

The  old  woman  crossed  her  forefingers  with  a  gesture 
which  impressed  Doreen  strangely. 

"  By  the  eras  o'  Christ,"  she  repeated  solemnly,  "  neither 
to  man,  woman,  nor  child  —  no,  nor  even  to  the  praist  him- 
self—  will  I  tell  what  I  saw  and  heard  this  day." 

Desmond  rose  from  his  place  by  the  fire.  "  Thank  you," 
he  said,  in  a  voice  unlike  his  own.  Then,  staggering  a  little 
as  though  seized  by  giddiness,  he  put  his  hand  within  his 
pupil's  arm.  "  I  must  go  away,"  he  said ;  and  with  hurried 
farewells  to  the  old  peasant  and  his  wife,  they  left  the 
cabin  and  once  more  got  into  the  boat. 

"  Steer  for  the  landing-place,"  said  Max ;  and  poor  little 
Doreen  fixed  her  eyes  bravely  on  the  rude  causeway  at  the 
far  end  of  the  lake,  and  tried  not  to  let  herself  think  of 
what  lay  beneath  the  cold  gray  waters  over  which  they 
were  gliding. 


CHAPTEK  III. 

"  *  God  of  justice  ! '  I  sighed,  '  send  your  spirit  down 
On  these  lords  so  cruel  and  proud, 
And  soften  their  hearts,  and  relax  their  frown, 
Or  else^^  I  cried  aloud  — 
*  Vouchsafe  thy  strength  to  the  peasant's  hand 
To  drive  them  at  length  from  off  the  land  ! '" 

Thomas  Davis. 

They  had  rowed,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  before  any  one  spoke ; 
at  last  John  Desmond  broke  the  silence. 

"  When  does  the  next  train  leave  Kilbeggan  ?  "  he  asked." 

"  There  is  one  at  nine,"  said  Max,  with  a  startled  look. 
"  But  you  are  surely  not  going  ?  " 

"I  can't  stay  here  to  bring  your  mother  into  all  this 
trouble,  and  your  cousin,"  said  Desmond,  hoarsely.  "  Were 
it  not  for  them  I  would  wait  and  give  myself  up.  'Tis 
an  hour's  drive  to  the  station,  but  that  will  leave  me  time 
to  get  my  things  together.  I  can  say  that  I  am  hastily 
summoned  home,  owing  to  family  trouble." 

"  Will  not  your  leaving  possibly  lead  to  suspicion  ?  "  said 
Max. 

"I  think  not,"  said  the  tutor.  "And  if  it  does,  there  is 
not  a  shred  of  evidence  against  me.  Old  Larry  and  his 
wife  will  not  break  that  oath,  and  you  —  of  course  I  can 
trust  you." 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  boy.  "  I  give  you  my  word  that  I 
will  not  tell." 

Yet  even  as  he  spoke,  he  felt  the  awful  burden  that  had 
been  thrust  upon  him,  and  his  heart  sank  as  he  reflected 

22 


DOREEM  23 

tliat  all  through  life  he  must  carry  with  him  this  terrible 
secret. 

"  There  is  that  child,"  said  Desmond.  "  What  are  we  to 
do  about  her  ?  " 

"  Leave  her  to  me,"  said  Max,  with  an  inexpressible  dis- 
like to  the  thought  of  extorting  a  promise  from  their  light- 
hearted  little  playfellow.  Must  she,  too,  be  burdened 
with  this  horrible  secret  ?  It  would  be  harder,  infinitely 
harder,  for  her  to  bear ! 

"  Somehow  her  lips  must  be  closed,  at  any  rate  for  the 
present,"  said  Desmond.  "  Sooner  or  later  'tis  bound  to 
leak  out  through  her  —  she  has  a  ready  tongue  as  a  child, 
and  will  have  it,  you  may  be  sure,  as  a  woman.  The  fear 
that  may  restrain  her  now  will  have  no  power  a  few  years 
hence.  But  somehow  you  must  get  her  to  swear  secrecy,  or 
I  am  undone." 

Doreen  had  not  heard  the  whole  of  this  speech ;  they  were 
nearing  the  landing-place,  and  she  was  intent  on  her  steer- 
ing ;  but  a  word  or  two  had  reached  her,  and  she  knew  that 
before  long  she,  too,  would  be  asked  to  swear  as  Larry  and 
Norah  had  done.  The  thought  weighed  upon  her.  But 
she  was  left  unmolested  for  some  little  time. 

Desmond  was  so  much  exhausted  that  he  proposed  trying 
to  hire  a  car  at  the  nearest  inn,  and  Doreen  herself  was  not 
sorry  to  lose  the  ride  across  the  mountains.  They  gave  the 
pony  in  charge  to  the  landlord  of  the  forlorn  little  hostelry 
not  far  from  the  lake,  and  with  a  fresh  horse  and  a  crazy 
and  springless  outside  car  made  their  way  back  to  Castle 
Karey,  by  the  more  circuitous  but  easier  high-road.  A 
blight,  however,  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon  all  they  saw, 
and  Doreen  shuddered  as  they  drove  through  the  narrow, 
rocky  pass,  with  its  threatening  crags  and  its  rugged  gray 
and  purple  boulders,  from  which,  ever  and  anon,  it  seemed 
to  her  that  the  agent's  face  looked  fiercely  forth.  As  they 
drew  nearer  home,  the  dreadful  longing  to  rush  straight  to 
her  mother  and  tell  her  everything,  grew  almost  overpow- 
ering. But  at  the  first  of  the  gates  leading  into  the  Castle 
grounds  Max  Hereford  paused. 


H  DOREEN- 

"  I  promised  once  to  show  you  the  grotto,"  he  said,  feel- 
ing much  as  if  he  were  trapping  the  poor  little  girl  to  her 
doom.  "  We  will  come  now,  while  Mr.  Desmond  goes  on  to 
the  Lodge  and  settles  with  the  driver." 

Desmond  glanced  at  them  in  an  abstracted  way  as  they 
got  down.  Then,  without  a  word,  he  drove  on.  The  tears 
started  to  Doreen's  eyes ;  she  longed  so  very  much  to  go 
with  him,  to  sob  out  all  her  terror  and  misery  on  her 
mother's  knee ;  if  she  could  but  do  that,  surely  the  horrible 
face  would  cease  to  haunt  her  ? 

With  unwilling  feet  she  walked  beside  Mp.x  through  the 
wood ;  the  winding  path  was  cut  through  the  undergrowth 
of  nut  trees  which  had  clustered  about  some  fine  old  oaks, 
and  at  any  other  time  it  would  have  been  to  her  the  most 
fascinating  place.  Even  now  the  beauty  and  the  quiet, 
sheltered  peace  of  the  wood  relieved  her  heavy  heart,  it 
made  such  a  welcome  contrast  to  the  gloomy  pass  and  the 
desolate  Lough  Lee,  and  the  horrible  scene  which  had  taken 
place  there.  Presently  an  exclamation  of  delight  escaped 
her,  for  in  the  heart  of  the  wood  they  came  upon  a  place 
which  seemed  to  her  like  fairyland.  Tiny  paths  and  rustic 
steps  led  up  the  steep  banks,  gray  boulders  and  quaintly 
shaped  tree  stumps  and  mysterious  caves  and  arches  formed 
the  background,  and  on  every  side  rose  the  most  beautiful 
ferns  she  had  ever  seen, — graceful  "ladies,"  sturdy  male 
fern,  dark-leaved  holly  fern,  delicate  oak  and  beech,  feathery 
parsley,  long,  drooping  hart's-tongues,  and  fringes  of  Killar- 
ney  fern.  At  the  far  end  of  this  fernery  stood  a  miniature 
tower  in  gray  stone,  a  summer  house  known  as  the  "  Keep." 
She  had  longed  to  see  it;  yet  as  Max  took  her  in,  she  shiv- 
ered, for  the  place,  only  lighted  by  two  ivy-shaded  windows, 
seemed  dark  and  depressing;  the  horrible  recollections 
that  had  for  a  minute  been  banished  from  her  mind  by  the 
beauty  of  the  fernery,  came  trooping  back  with  double 
force. 

"  Do  you  think  Mr.  Desmond  will  get  into  trouble  ?  "  she 
asked. 


DOREEN  25 

"  He  most  certainly  will,"  said  Max,  "  unless  we  all  four 
keep  silence.  Will  you  promise  never  to  tell  what  you 
know  ?  " 

"  I  would  not  hurt  him  for  the  world,"  said  Doreen,  "  but 
please  do  let  me  tell  my  mother." 

"  'Tis  already  known  to  too  many  people,"  said  Max ;  "  if 
more  are  to  be  told,  it  will  be  quite  impossible  to  keep  the 
matter  secret." 

"  If  I  might  just  tell  mother,"  pleaded  Doreen,  "  it  would 
be  so  much  less  hard  to  bear." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  can  understand  that,"  he  said,  faltering  a 
little  as  the  blue  eyes  searched  his  face  wistfully.  "  Yet 
she  is  not  strong,  and  the  telling  her,  though  a  relief  to  you, 
could  do  no  real  good,  —  could,  in  fact,  only  trouble  her 
very  much." 

Doreen's  face  fell.  "I  had  forgotten  that,"  she  said. 
"  Then  may  I  not  tell  my  father  when  I  see  him  ?  He 
would  never  betray  Mr.  Desmond.  Do  let  me  just  tell 
him!" 

"  But  surely  that  would  be  very  unwise,"  said  Max. 
"The  disappearance  of  this  agent  will  be  talked  of  all 
over  the  country,  and  your  father  —  a  Fenian  just  released 
from  prison  —  would  be  far  safer  if  he  knew  absolutely 
nothing  about  the  matter  and  could  swear  that  he  was 
ignorant." 

"  We  must  not  let  him  run  any  risk,"  she  said  gravely. 
"  I  must  just  bear  it  alone." 

Great  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes,  and  Max,  cut  to  the 
heart  by  the  child's  grief,  and  the  thought  of  the  dreadful 
burden  that  he  was  putting  upon  her,  caught  her  hand  in 
his  and  held  it  tenderly.  But  this  proved  fatal ;  for  there 
are  times  when  the  mere  touch  of  a  hand  will  open  the 
floodgates  of  emotion  as  no  words  could  do.  Doreen  broke 
into  a  passionate  fit  of  weeping. 

"  Oh,"  she  sobbed,  "  I  don't  think  I  can  ever  be  happy 
any  more ! " 

"Don't  cry,  dear,"  he  said,  drawing  her   towards   him. 


26  DOREEISr 

"  You  and  I  are  in  the  same  case,  but  perhaps  in  time  the 
memory  of  to-day  will  fade  and  grow  less  horrible.  After 
all,  we  have  done  no  wrong.  It  is  our  misfortune,  not  our 
fault.'^ 

The  sense  of  his  companionship  in  her  trouble  began  to 
comfort  her,  but  it  was  her  practical  good  sense  that  checked 
her  tears. 

"  I  mustn't  cry,"  she  said,  "  or  mother  will  guess  some- 
thing by  my  red  eyes.  I  can't  think  how  Ellen  Montgomery 
managed ;  she  cried  between  two  and  three  hundred  times 
in  the  '  Wide,  Wide  World,'  for  I  counted  up  once,  but  she 
always  seems  to  have  looked  natural  and  pretty ;  it  never 
says  that  her  eyes  were  as  red  as  ferrets'." 

Max  smiled.  It  was  cheering  to  him  to  think  that 
Doreen's  sunny  nature  would  triumph  even  over  this  dark 
shadow  that  had  crossed  her  path. 

"  You  will  swear  to  keep  silence  ?  "  he  said  presently. 

"  I  swear  it,"  said  Doreen,  "  by  the  cross  of  Christ." 

*^  I  also  swear  to  keep  silence,"  said  Max,  still  keeping 
her  hand  in  his  as  he  repeated  the  words  of  the  oath. 
Then  he  stooped  down  and  kissed  her,  and  felt  her  childish 
lips  softly  pressed  to  his  cheek  in  a  shy  response. 

Half  an  hour  later  Doreen,  with  a  very  wan  little  face, 
but  a  sturdy  determination  to  keep  her  secret,  opened  the 
door  of  her  mother's  sitting-room. 

"  Why,  my  child,  you  are  late,"  said  Mrs.  O'Ryan.  "  And 
how  very  tired  you  look !  It  has  been  too  long  an  excursion 
for  you." 

"  Oh  no,  mother,"  said  Doreen.  "  I  am  a  little  tired  and 
hungry ;  but  it  wasn't  such  a  very  long  way,  and  we  came 
back  on  a  car." 

"Tell  them  to  bring  in  tea  at  once,"  said  her  mother. 
And  Doreen,  glad  to  escape,  ran  away,  and  having  taken 
off  her  cloak  and  hat,  studied  herself  critically  in  the  look- 
ing-glass, then,  with  a  dissatisfied  exclamation,  plunged  her 
face  into  a  basin  of  cold  water  and  vigorously  scrubbed  her 
white  cheeks  with  a  rough  towel     The  worst  of  it  was  that 


DOREEN  27 

tears  would  keep  stealing  up  into  her  eyes,  even  now,  in  a 
fashion  hitherto  unknown  to  her.  Indeed,  though  she  little 
dreamt  it,  years  were  to  elapse  before  her  nerves  quite 
recovered  from  the  severe  shock  of  that  afternoon. 

"  Doreen  has  so  much  spirit,"  reflected  her  mother,  "  she 
would  go  till  she  dropped.  But  the  child  is  certainly  over- 
tired.    I  must  put  a  stop  to  these  very  long  expeditions." 

She  had  no  idea  that  her  simple  questions  about  Lough 
Lee  and  the  doings  of  that  afternoon  were  taxing  her  little 
daughter's  powers  more  than  any  number  of  additional 
miles  could  have  done.  No  suspicion  of  any  grave  trouble 
was  roused  by  Doreen's  replies,  and  the  two  settled  down 
to  their  usual  game  of  cribbage,  when  the  tea  things  were 
removed,  as  composedly  as  though  FoxelFs  body  was  not 
lying  at  the  bottom  of  the  lake. 

By  nine  o'clock  the  child  was  in  bed,  but  her  sleep  was 
uneasy  and  troubled  by  dreams.  She  woke  shuddering 
with  terror  as  the  clock  struck  eleven.  All  was  dark  and 
still ;  they  were  an  early  household,  and  by  this  time  every 
one  would  be  asleep.  She  sat  up  in  bed,  staring  out  into  the 
darkness ;  had  it,  after  all,  been  only  a  dream,  —  that  fright- 
ful scene  of  a  man  falling  back  with  distorted  face,  and  sink- 
ing into  the  water,  yet  rising  again  close  beside  her?  Alas ! 
it  was  a  dreadful  reality.  She  remembered  everything  dis- 
tinctly now,  and  fell  back  again  on  the  pillow  in  a  paroxysm 
of  the  most  agonizing  fear  she  had  ever  known.  It  was  not 
the  mere  memory  that  terrified  her,  nor  even  the  fear  that 
John  Desmond  might  be  arrested ;  it  was  a  wild,  unreasoning 
fancy  that  the  murdered  man  was  close  beside  her.  Every 
moment  she  dreaded  to  see  his  face  looming  out  of  the  dark- 
ness, and  she  lay  like  one  paralyzed,  hearing  nothing  but 
the  throbbing  of  her  heart,  and  not  daring  to  close  her  eyes. 
Some  would  have  found  relief  in  drawing  up  the  bedclothes 
and  cowering  down  beneath  them ;  but  Doreen  always  pre- 
ferred to  face  her  fears.  In  the  extremity  of  her  misery 
she  began  to  think  whether  she  could  summon  up  courage 
to  rush  to  her  mother's  room,  as  she  had  sometimes  done 


28  DOREEAT 

before  in  moments  of  panic.  Then  she  remembered  her 
oath,  and  the  terror  of  breaking  it  drove  out,  for  a  moment, 
all  other  terrors. 

"  I  must  not  go  to  mother,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  She 
would  certainly  guess  something.  And  yet,  oh !  how  lovely 
it  would  be  to  creep  into  her  bed  and  feel  her  arms  round 
me !  I  should  be  asleep  in  two  minutes,  just  as  I  was  last 
time  I  was  frightened  in  the  night.  But  what  if  I  talked 
in  my  sleep  ?  What  if  I  told  the  secret  in  my  sleep  ?  Oh ! 
I  shall  never  feel  safe  all  my  life !  What  shall  I  do ! 
What  shall  I  do!" 

Again  the  horrible  fancy  that  Foxell  was  close  by  made 
her  teeth  chatter,  until  at  last,  in  desperation,  she  summoned 
up  all  her  courage,  and  springing  from  the  bed  began  to 
grope  her  way  across  the  room  in  search  of  matches.  The 
light  was  a  wonderful  relief,  but  there  was  not  more  than 
an  inch  of  candle  left.  She  set  it  on  the  mantelpiece  and 
prayed  that  it  might  last  till  daylight,  with  sad  misgivings 
that  she  was  asking  an  impossibility. 

"  I  will  think  of  other  things,"  she  said  valiantly,  and 
began  to  study  with  extreme  care  a  marvellously  worked 
sampler  in  a  black  frame  which  hung  upon  the  wall. 
Hitherto  she  had  only  pitied  the  unlucky  child  who  had 
been  made  to  work  it ;  now  she  set  herself  to  read  the  words, 
which  ran  as  follows ;  — 

"  In  the  glad  mom  of  blooming  youth 
The  various  threads  I  drew, 
And,  pleased,  beheld  the  finished  piece 
Rise  glowing  to  the  view. 
Thus  when  bright  youth  shall  charm  no  more, 
And  age  shall  chill  my  blood. 
May  I  review  my  life  and  say, 
Behold,  my  works  were  good  ! 

"Bridget  O'Brien's  work,  finished  in  her  tenth  year,  1844." 

"  I  shall  never  be  like  Bridget  O'Brien,  whoever  she  was," 
reflected  Doreen^  sadly.     "  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  should  ever  be 


DOREEN-  29 

able  to  say  —  *  Behold,  my  works  were  good ! '  And  there 
will  always  be  this  dreadful  memory  at  the  beginning. 
The  sampler  wouldn't  have  looked  very  nice  if  some  one 
had  spilt  a  great  blot  of  ink  on  it  just  as  Bridget  O'Brien 
had  worked  the  first  corner.  There !  I  am  thinking  of  it 
again!  I  will  crowd  it  out.  Let  me  see;  I'll  count  the 
things  in  this  sampler.  There  are  rose-bushes  up  there, 
and  trees  like  the  ones  in  Michael's  Noah's  ark.  And 
next  come  some  queer-looking  birds,  grinning  at  each  other 
across  those  pagodas.  Then  there's  a  brown  cottage  with  a 
scarlet  roof,  and  two  great  birds  balancing  on  the  two  small 
chimneys,  and  looking  down  on  that  very  green  lawn  strewn 
about  with  red,  white,  and  blue  flowers.  Then  there's  a 
pink  bridge  leading  to  a  green  hill,  and  on  the  top  of  the 
hill  a  blue  and  brown  castle,  and  the  Union  Jack  a  great 
deal  smaller  than  that  enormous  light  blue  bird  with  a  dark 
blue  head.  Next  there's  a  row  of  trees  and  flowers, — 
horrid  to  work,  I'm  sure.  And  down  below  there's  a  large 
brown  house  —  poor  Bridget,  how  she  must  have  hated  it ! 
There  are  seven  windows,  a  blue  roof,  a  green  door,  and  a 
yellow  knocker.  On  the  roof  sit  four  big  birds.  To  the 
right  and  left  are  apple  trees  and  rose-bushes,  flanked  by 
four  cows,  a  dog,  and  a  stag,  all  worked  in  sky-blue." 

The  clock  in  the  kitchen  struck  twelve.  Doreen  shivered 
a  little,  and  wished  she  had  never  read  the  lines  about  — 

"  'Tis  now  the  very  witching  time  of  night, 
When  churchyards  yawn,  and  hell  itself  breathes  out 
Contagion  to  this  world." 

Suddenly  she  remembered  that  under  her  pillow  there 
was  a  little  Irish  book  of  prayers,  called  "The  Key  of 
Heaven,"  which  she  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  to  bed  with 
her  because  it  belonged  to  her  father  and  seemed  like  a  link 
with  him.  Perhaps  there  might  be  something  in  that  to 
quiet  her  fears.  She  seldom  opened  it,  but  now  in  her 
terror  she  drew  it  out,  and,  in*  turning  over  the  pages,  was, 
uot  unnaturally,  arrested  by  the  words,  "Litany  for  th^ 


30  DOREEN 

Dead."  Surely  it  would  be  well  to  pray  for  the  man  who 
had  gone  with  such  awful  suddenness  to  his  doom.  She 
knelt  up  in  bed,  using  such  of  the  sentences  as  pleased  her 
best. 

"  Be  merciful,  O  Lord,  and  pardon  their  sins.  From  the 
shades  of  death,  where  the  light  of  Thy  countenance  shineth 
not,  deliver  them,  0  Lord.  By  the  multitude  of  Thy  mer- 
cies, ever  compassionate  to  human  frailties,  deliver  them,  O 
Lord. 

"  We  sinners  beseech  thee  to  hear  us. 

"That  the  blessed  view  of  Jesus  may  comfort  them,  and 
His  unfading  glory  shine  upon  them.  That  the  whole  tri- 
umphant church  may  soon  celebrate  their  deliverance,  and 
the  choirs  of  angels  sing  new  hymns  of  joy  on  their  never- 
ending  happiness." 

Then  she  lay  down  again  and  tried  to  sleep,  but  in  vain. 
The  clock  struck  one.  The  candle  flared  in  its  socket,  then 
once  more  darkness  reigned.  "If  only  the  light  would 
have  lasted  till  dawn ! "  she  thought,  as  the  horror  of  her 
loneliness  began  again  to  overwhelm  her. 

But  her  prayer  was,  nevertheless,  answered;  for  it  was  in 
the  darkness  and  terror  of  that  night  that  her  spirit  awoke 
to  the  recognition  of  all  that  had  hitherto  been  to  her  mere 
matter  of  belief.  Mrs.  Hereford  had  sighed  to  think  of  the 
difficult  life  which  probably  lay  before  the  sweet-voiced 
little  girl.  Max  was  even  now  chafing  at  the  thought  of 
the  burden  which  Desmond's  rash  act  had  brought  upon  one 
so  young  and  innocent.  They  both  forgot  that  with  need 
comes  power,  and  that  to  those  of  whom  much  is  required, 
much  is  also  given. 

A  whole  night  without  sleep  seems  long  to  every  one, 
but  to  a  child  it  seems  well-nigh  endless.  Doreen  no 
sooner  heard  the  landlady  stirring  in  the  room  above,  than 
she  sprang  up  and  dressed,  glad  to  remember  that  it  was 
the  day  on  which  the  washing  was  done  and  that  Mrs. 
Keoghn  would  be  hard  at  work  at  her  wash-tub  before 
sunrise.     She  had  a  craving  to  get  out  into  the  open  air, 


DOREEN  31 

and  astonished  the  good  landlady  by  appearing  at  the 
kitchen  door  in  her  cloak  and  hat  as  the  clock  struck  five. 

"  Sure,  and  whativer  is  it  that  you  are  afther,  me  dear  ? '' 
she  exclaimed. 

"  I  was  awake,  and  the  morning  is  so  fine  that  I  mean  to 
go  up  Kilrourk,"  said  Doreeu.  "  Please  will  Dan  lend  me 
the  loan  of  his  stick?  The  long  one  with  the  hooked 
handle." 

"  Sure,  and  it's  proud  he'll  be  if  you'll  use  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Keoghn,  drying  her  hands  on  her  apron.  •'  And  just  you 
wait  a  bit,  the  while  I  cut  you  a  little,  small  slice  of  bread ; 
'tis  ill  faring  on  an  empty  stomach." 

Doreen  tlianked  her,  and  running  out  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  began  slowly  to  make  her  way  up  the  steep,  grassy 
ascent,  eating  the  bread  as  she  walked.  But  the  ground 
was  wet  with  dew,  and  somehow  the  climb  seemed  toil- 
some ;  before  she  was  a  quarter  of  the  way  up  she  began 
to  grow  tired,  and  finding  a  plateau  of  smooth,  short  turf 
from  which  the  gray  rock  cropped  out  here  and  there,  she 
thought  she  would  rest  there,  at  any  rate  for  the  present.  To 
the  left  there  was  a  little  group  of  oaks  and  arbutus,  while 
a  few  hundred  yards  in  advance,  on  the  extreme  verge  of 
the  rocky  summit  of  this  first  spur  of  the  mountain,  stood 
a  solitary  fir  tree,  its  gaunt  trunk  and  soorm-twisted  branches 
glowing  ruddily  in  the  light  of  dawn.  She  lay  down  among 
the  rocks  at  the  foot  of  an  arbutus  tree,  watching  the  tall 
fir  with  its  dark  green  foliage  standing  out  clearly  against 
the  strip  of  sky.  Down  below,  among  its  verdant  woods, 
she  could  see  the  gray  turrets  of  Castle  Karey,  and  the 
silvery  brightness  of  the  calm  water,  and  the  ^orious  peaks 
of  the  mountains  rising  like  the  wings  of  guardian  angels 
on  the  further  shore.  Far  away,  in  the  opposite  direction, 
there  lay,  as  she  well  knew,  the  gloomy  Lough  Lee ;  the  light 
was  breaking  there  too.  She  turned  away  with  a  shudder 
at  the  thought,  and  looked  instead  at  all  the  lovely  things 
close  at  hand,  —  the  green  turf  and  the  little  yellow 
tormentilla  twisting  about  in  all  directions,  and  the  tall, 


32  DOREEN 

brown  grasses  with  their  shimmering  spikes  waving  in  the 
breeze,  and  the  soft  feathery  moss  half  veiling  the  gray 
rocks.  Then  she  noticed  that  the  dark  holly-bush  close  by 
had  been  suddenly  glorified,  every  shining  leaf  becoming 
a  mirror  for  the  sun,  as  it  rose  majestically  above  the  crest 
of  the  mountain.  The  beauty  of  the  country  seemed  to 
steal  into  her  heart  as  it  had  never  done  before ;  for  the 
first  time  she  fully  realized  that  the  land  was  her  own. 

"  If  only  I  can  be  worthy  of  it ! "  she  thought  to  herself. 
"  If  only  I  can  serve  it !  Keeping  this  secret  is  dreadful. 
I  wish  I  had  lived  in  the  times  of  the  Rebellion,  or  in  '48 ; 
there  were  lovely  secrets  to  keep  then,  and  real  patriots  to 
save  and  shelter.  Yet  Mr.  Desmond  was  kind  to  poor 
Larry;  he  meant  to  help.  How  strange  it  seems  that  if 
only  the  agent  had  been  just  to  old  Larry,  it  never  would 
have  happened.  Why  are  they  so  unwilling  to  be  just  to 
us  Irish?" 

But  musing  over  that  problem  proved  too  much  for  the 
tired  little  brain.  Doreen's  head  sank  lower  and  lower, 
till  in  a  few  minutes  she  was  sleeping,  like  Jacob,  with 
a  stone  for  a  pillow,  and,  doubtless,  with  angels  to  guard 
her,  though  she  was  too  weary  to  dream  of  them. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  A  man  must  grab  wliatever  he  can  get ; 
We  human  creatures  are  not  angels  yet. 
You  must  not  stab,  nor  strangle,  a  poor  neighbour, 
For,  if  you  did,  why  you  would  lose  his  labour ; 
No,  take  advantage  of  his  cramped  position 
To  mangle  him  with  your  crudest  condition. 
Rob  soul  and  body  by  superior  wit 
And  fortune  ;  ignorant  hunger  will  submit. 
If  he  should  gash  you,  that  were  ugly  murder  : 
Dribble  his  life-blood  slowly  —  you're  in  order." 

Hon.  Roden  Noel. 

When  John  Desmond  had  dismissed  the  car  at  the  Lodge 
on  the  previous  afternoon,  he  made  his  way  quickly  to 
Castle  Karey  and  went  straight  to  the  drawing-room,  with 
the  intention  of  telling  Mrs.  Hereford  that  he  was  obliged 
to  go  home  that  very  evening.  He  found,  however,  that 
Miriam  was  the  sole  occupant  of  the  room ;  she  was  leaning 
back  in  a  great  armchair,  with  "  Vanity  Fair  "  in  her  hand. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  "I  am  dutifully  obeying  you  and 
beginning  to  read  Thackeray  to  improve  my  mind.  But 
what  is  the  matter  ?  "  for  suddenly  she  observed  the  great 
change  that  had  come  over  his  expression,  and  she  glanced 
from  his  troubled  eyes  to  the  letter  which  he  held  —  a  bill 
from  Oxford,  as  it  happened,  but  a  missive  which  exactly 
suited  his  purpose. 

"  I  have  bad  news,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  and  am  obliged  to 
go  home  at  once.  The  Lodge  people  put  this  letter  into 
my  hands  as  I  passed,  —  they  had  been  to  Kilbeggan  and 

33  n 


34  DOREElsr 

had  called  for  the  afternoon  post.  Do  you  know  where 
Mrs.  Hereford  is  ?     Can  I  speak  to  her  ?  " 

"  Aunt  has  gone  out,"  said  Miriam.  "  As  the  afternoon 
kept  fine,  she  drove  to  the  Glebe  House  to  see  the  Macgreg- 
ors.     Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  for  your  trouble  !     Is  it  illness  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  his  brow  contracting.  "  A  worse  trouble, 
and  one  which  will  not  bear  talking  of.  It  will  force  me 
to  go ;  it  will  cut  me  off  from  you  for  ever." 

The  wild  look  in  his  eyes  terrified  Miriam. 

"  You  must  not  say  that ! "  she  cried.  "  Nothing  could 
do  that,  for  we  are  —  friends." 

Her  voice  faltered ;  she  laid  her  hand  pleadingly  on  his 
arm,  but  he  shrank  away  as  if  the  touch  were  torture  to 
him. 

"There  is  one  thing  that  must  part  us,"  he  said  vehe- 
mently, "  and  that  is  disgrace.  Since  you  have  been  here, 
since  I  learned  to  love  you,  my  life  has  been  a  dream  of 
happiness.  That  is  all  over  now.  I  must  go  home,  and  I 
beg  you  just  to  forget  me." 

"  I  cannot  forget,"  said  Miriam  faintly. 

"  I  implore  you  not  to  waste  another  thought  on  me ! " 
he  replied,  with  a  vehemence  which  alarmed  her.  Then 
turning  abruptly  away  he  strode  out  of  the  room,  leaving 
the  girl  perplexed  and  greatly  troubled,  almost  inclined  to 
think  that  the  tutor  must  be  going  out  of  his  mind.  She 
went  slowly  upstairs  to  dress  for  dinner,  and  on  returning 
to  the  drawing-room  found  her  aunt  full  of  concern  about 
the  news  that  Max  had  just  brought  to  her. 

"I  have  ordered  dinner  somewhat  earlier,  dear,"  she 
said  as  Miriam  crossed  the  room.  "You  have  heard  per- 
haps that  Mr.  Desmond  is  obliged  to  catch  the  nine  o'clock 
train  to-night." 

"  Does  he  go  to-night  ?  "  said  Miriam,  her  heart  sinking. 

"  He  is  packing  now ;  it  is  some  family  trouble,  I  am 
afraid,  from  the  message  he  sent  me,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford. 
She  broke  off  as  the  butler  approached  her  with  something 
a  little  unusual  in  his  well-regulated  expression. 


DOREEN'  35 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,  can  Baptiste  speak  to  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  send  him  in  here,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford,  and 
the  next  moment  the  French  valet  entered.  He  was  a  new 
acquisition  and  had  won  much  favour  in  the  household  by 
his  extreme  good-nature ;  but  he  could  neither  speak  nor 
apparently  understand  a  word  of  English.  With  much  ex- 
citement he  now  announced  that  his  master  begged  Mrs. 
Hereford  to  come  upstairs  at  once,  for  Mr.  Desmond  was 
seriously  ill. 

And  so  after  all  the-  flight  from  Castle  Karey  had  to  be 
abandoned ;  for  by  the  time  the  nine  o'clock  train  steamed 
out  of  Kilbeggan  station  the  local  doctor  had  pronounced 
without  the  least  hesitation  that  the  tutor  was  suffering 
from  inflammation  of  the  brain,  probably  caused  by  the 
shock  he  had  undergone  in  receiving  bad  news  from  his 
home. 

Max  had  insisted  on  sharing  the  night  watch  with  his 
valet ;  and  since  Baptiste  was  known  to  have  some  experi- 
ence of  nursing,  and  proved  extremely  handy  in  the  sick- 
room, the  doctor  seemed  content,  and  left  them  with  strict 
orders  to  keep  the  room  perfectly  quiet  and  to  exclude  all 
other  people. 

This  was  an  injunction  that  the  boy  was  ready  enough  to 
obey ;  for  he  was  in  deadly  terror  lest  Desmond  should,  in 
his  delirium,  let  fall  some  word  which  would  betray  the 
secret  of  Foxell's  death.  He  never  stirred  from  his  post 
till,  at  six  the  next  morning,  the  doctor  looked  in  again  to 
see  how  his  patient  was  progressing,  and,  finding  Desmond 
asleep,  took  a  cheerful  view  of  the  attack  and  spoke  hope- 
fully of  the  future. 

"And  now,  sir,"  he  said,  laying  a  kindly  hand  on  the 
boy's  shoulder,  "  as  you  will  be  wanted  when  your  friend 
wakes,  I  advise  you  to  go  and  rest.  Baptiste  will  keep  out 
all  intruders,  and  you  look  to  me  very  much  fagged." 

Max  was  fain  to  own  that  he  was  tired,  though  not  sleepy ; 
his  head  ached  miserably,  and  seeing  that  the  day  was  bright 
and  clear,  he  said  he  would  walk  up  the  avenue  with  the 

d2 


36  DOREEN 

doctor.  His  companion  put  several  questions  to  him,  but 
they  were  all  easy  enough  to  answer,  since  they  concerned 
Desmond's  previous  health. 

They  were  so  much  absorbed  in  their  talk,  that  they 
passed  the  Lodge  and  walked  a  little  way  along  the  high- 
road until  Max  was  recalled  to  the  present  by  the  sight  of 
the  little  gray  lodging-house  and  of  the  landlady  in  her  gar- 
den hanging  up  clothes  to  dry. 

Mrs.  Keoglm  seemed  delighted  to  catch  sight  of  them ; 
she  came  to  her  gate,  without  even  .pausing  to  hang  up  the 
wet  shirt  she  held  in  her  hands. 

"  Good  morning  to  ye,  gintlemen,"  she  said.  "  Have  ye 
heard  the  news  that's  goin'  round  about  the  agent  ?  " 

"  What  news  ?  "  said  the  doctor.  Max  struggled  desper- 
ately to  express  nothing  but  a  half-careless  curiosity,  though 
his  heart  beat  like  a  sledge  hammer. 

"  They  say  he  never  came  back  yesterday,  and  his  wife 
is  onaisy  in  her  mind,  and  thinks  he  has  been  made  away 
with ;  and  for  the  matther  of  that,  it's  well  hated  he  is  by 
many  a  one,  the  cold-hearted  crathur !  She  will  have  it  that 
the  Fenians  have  been  and  murthered  him." 

"  Pooh ! "  said  the  doctor.  "  There  are  no  Fenians  about 
here.     Are  the  police  taking  it  up  yet  ?  " 

"  Sure,  and  they  are,  sir.  The  country  is  to  be  searched 
for  him,  and  all  the  village  is  astir  about  it.  Mrs.  Foxell 
won't  give  them  a  moment's  peace  till  he's  found;  one 
would  think  they  had  been  the  best  o'  friends,  but  sure  and 
I've  heard  the  folk  say  they  were  a  rare  quarrelsome  couple, 
and  that  she  had  a  scolding  tongue.  Maybe  that  soured  the 
agent's  temper  and  made  him  harder  to  the  tenants.'^ 

"  I  must  go  and  hear  about  it,"  said  the  doctor  cheerfully. 
"But  depend  upon  it,  the  fellow  will  turn  up  all  right. 
When  was  he  last  at  the  Castle,  Mr.  Hereford  ?  " 

"  I  heard  that  he  was  there  in  the  morning,"  said  Max. 
'*  I  believe  my  mother  saw  him." 

"Well,  good  morning  to  you,"  said  the  doctor.  "Why, 
your  hand  is  cold  j  you  are  not  so  used  to  being  up  all  night, 


DOREEN  37 

as  I  am.  Take  a  brisk  walk,  —  nothing  like  a  walk  before 
breakfast  for  the  circulation." 

He  turned  away,  but  Max  lingered  a  moment  longer 
beside  the  gate.  "  Miss  Doreen  was  not  over-tired  yester- 
day, I  hope  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Bless  you,  no,  sir,"  replied  the  landlady.  "  Why,  she 
was  off  at  five  o'clock  this  morning,  runnin'  up  the  mountain 
yonder  as  brisk  as  could  be." 

With  a  strong  desire  to  know  how  the  sharer  of  his  mis- 
erable secret  was  bearing  her  burden,  Max  followed  the 
direction  which  Mrs.  Keoghn  had  indicated  and  began  to 
climb  Kilrourk.  He  had  not  gone  far  when  he  descried 
the  red  cloak  among  the  moss-grown  rocks  to  the  left, 
and,  stealing  quietly  over  the  dewy  turf,  saw  that  the 
child  was  fast  asleep.  Her  little  peaceful  face  touched  his 
heart  strangely ;  he  bent  down  and  kissed  her  softly  and 
reverently  on  the  forehead.  Doreen  smiled  in  her  sleep 
and,  feeling  for  his  hand,  held  it  closely  in  both  her  own. 
The  clasp  of  her  fingers  on  his  had  a  curious  effect  on  him ; 
spite  of  all  the  misery  and  fear  which  had  oppressed  him 
only  a  few  minutes  before,  Doreen  seemed  witching  him 
into  a  content  as  blissful  and  dreamlike  as  her  own.  Just 
at  that  moment,  a  thrush  alighted  on  the  arbutus  tree  above 
them,  and  his  song  roused  the  child.  Her  dark  blue  eyes 
looked  right  into  Max  Hereford's  with  a  smile  of  recogni- 
tion. 

"  I  was  dreaming  of  you,"  she  said,  with  a  direct  sim- 
plicity which  confused  him  a  little. 

"  I  found  you  sleeping  on  the  mountain  with  your  crook 
at  your  side,  like  Little  Bo-Peep,"  he  replied  laughing. 

Doreen,  with  a  puzzled  face,  looked  at  the  crooked  stick 
lying  on  the  turf  among  the  little  yellow  flowers  of  the 
tormentilla;  she  looked  at  the  storm-twisted  boughs  of 
the  fir  tree,  she  looked  across  the  glen  to  the  mountains 
beyond,  and  then  with  a  shudder  and  a  sudden  look  of  dis- 
may and  fear,  she  sprang  to  her  feet  as  the  recollection  of 
Lough  Lee  and  the  sinking  agent  returned  to  her. 


38  DOREEN 

"  Oh ! "  she  said,  with  a  sob  in  her  throat,  "  will  it  always 
come  back  to  one  like  that  ?  Is  it  only  in  dreams  that  we 
can  be  quite  at  rest  ?  " 

"  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  dear,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand 
in  his  as  they  climbed  higher  up  the  mountain.  "  Has  the 
night  been  very  hard  for  you,  too  ?  " 

"I  couldn't  sleep,"  said  Doreen.  "And  the  dark  was 
dreadful!  I  kept  on  thinking  I  should  see  —  you  know 
what." 

"  Poor  little  soul !  you  were  quite  alone,  then  ?  " 

"  I  thought  of  going  to  mother ;  but  then,  you  know,  she 
might  have  guessed,  or  I  might  have  told  the  secret  in  my 
sleep.  Afterwards  God  talked  to  me,  and  it  was  better," 
she  concluded  abruptly,  with  the  instinctive  reserve  which 
veils  all  that  is  most  sacred.  There  was  a  pause.  Max 
looked  down  at  the  little,  tired,  white  face  with  a  sort  of 
wondering  admiration.  "  Then,"  continued  Doreen,  "  I 
climbed  up  here  and  saw  the  sunrise  for  the  first  time,  and 
the  country  looked  so  beautiful !  I  never  knew  before  how 
much  I  loved  it.  Oh !  I  am  so  glad  God  made  me  Irish,  but 
I  do  wish  He  had  made  me  a  boy;  then  when  I  grew  up, 
I  could  serve  the  country." 

"  What  would  you  do  ? "  asked  Max,  smiling  at  her 
eagerness. 

"  I  would  speak,"  she  cried,  her  eyes  flashing ;  "  I  would 
make  the  English  understand  how  different  things  are  over 
here  —  would  make  them  long  to  see  justice  shown  to  Ire- 
land, as  mother  says  they  longed  to  see  justice  shown  to 
Italy.  They  were  ready  enough,  mother  said,  to  make 
much  of  Garibaldi ;  but  my  father,  only  for  what  he  had 
written  and  for  belonging  to  the  Fenians,  was  thrust  into 
prison." 

"If  you  can't  be  a  second  Daniel  O'Connell,  you  can,  I 
should  think,  be  the  national  singer,"  said  Max. 

Doreen  sighed.  "Do  you  think  I  could?"  she  said. 
"Yet,  even  if  it  were  possible,  all  that  is  so  indirect. 
How  I  wish  I  were  you  —  rich,  and  a  man,  and  with  the 
power  to  speak." 


DOREEN  39 

"  How  do  you  know  I  have  the  power  ?  "  asked  the  boy, 
half  amused,  half  startled  by  her  tone  of  conviction. 

"  I  have  known  it  ever  since  that  day  you  took  me  first 
in  your  boat ;  don't  you  remember  how  after  the  picnic  you 
and  Mr.  Desmond  and  Miss  Hereford  made  speeches  for 
fun?  The  others  were  as  silly  as  could  be,  but  you  made 
us  really  laugh  and  really  cry;  and  when  you  told  the 
legend  of  the  Castle,  it  made  me  shiver  all  down  my  back 
like  lovely  music.  Why  should  we  not  have  a  nice  secret 
between  us,  and  a  nice  promise ! ''  she  exclaimed,  her  face 
lighting  up.  "  Let  us  plan  that  you  shall  go  into  Parlia- 
ment when  you  are  older,  and  promise  me  that  you  will 
speak  for  Ireland." 

He  smiled  at  her  enthusiasm. 

"  My  mother  would  like  nothing  better  than  that  I  should 
stand  a  few  years  hence  for  Firdale ;  but  if  I  adopt  your 
principles,  there  would  be  small  chance  of  my  getting  in. 
I  will  promise,  though,  to  speak  for  Ireland  if  ever  I  have 
the  power  and  the  chance." 

And  vague  dreams  of  a  far-away  future  began  to  float 
before  him  as  Doreen  climbed  Kilrourk  at  his  side,  chanting 
to  herself  her  favourite  song,  — 

"  '  God  save  Ireland,'  said  the  heroes ;  *' 

•  God  save  Ireland,'  said  they  all ; 
'  Whether  on  the  scaffold  high, 
Or  the  battle-field  we  die. 
Oh,  what  matter,  when  for  Erin  dear  we  fall  1  * " 

"  Why,  in  England  they  call  your  heroes  the  Manchester 
murderers,"  said  Max. 

"Yes,"  said  Doreen.  "But  we  Irish  call  it  murder  to 
hang  three  men  because  one  policeman  was  accidentally 
shot.  Had  a  policeman  burst  open  a  lock  with  a  pistol,  and 
an  Irishman  chanced  to  be  behind  the  door,  would  they 
have  called  tliat  a  murder,  do  you  suppose?  How  well  I 
remember  walking  in  the  funeral  procession  in  Dublin  that 
was  got  up  in  their  honour !     There  were  two  thousand  of 


40  DOREElsr 

us  children,  and  in  the  whole  procession  twenty-five  thou- 
sand people." 

"  Then  they  were  buried  in  Ireland  ?  " 

"  Oh  no !  in  quicklime  in  the  prison  graveyard,"  said 
Doreen.  "  But  that  doesn't  matter  at  all ;  your  own  great 
patriots  were  mostly  dishonoured  after  death  —  dug  up,  you 
know,  by  their  opponents  and  gibbeted.  The  Manchester 
martyrs  live  on  in  the  hearts  of  the  Irish  people." 

Max  had  been  diverted  for  the  time  from  his  anxieties 
by  the  little  girl's  eager  words,  but  a  cloud  of  care  settled 
down  upon  him  as  once  more  he  reached  Castle  Karey. 

That  afternoon  when,  after  spending  many  hours  with 
his  tutor,  he  had  just  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  him 
fall  asleep,  a  low  knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  Bap- 
tiste,  who  had  been  dozing  for  a  few  minutes,  stole  with 
cat-like  tread  across  the  room  to  ask  what  was  needed. 
Looking  up.  Max  saw  that  his  mother  stood  in  the  doorway, 
beckoning  to  him. 

"  I  want  you  down  in  the  library  for  a  few  minutes,"  she 
said,  as  he  joined  her  in  the  passage,  noiselessly  closing  the 
door  behind  him.  "A  most  extraordinary  thing  has  hap- 
pened. Mr.  Foxell,  the  agent,  disappeared  yesterday,  and 
not  a  trace  of  him  is  to  be  found.  Two  constables  and 
a  detective  are  down  below,  and  they  want  to  put  a  few 
questions  to  you  as  to  when  you  last  saw  the  poor  man.  It 
is  thought  likely  that  he  has  been  murdered." 

Max  made  an  inarticulate  exclamation.  To  one  of  his 
highly  nervous  temperament  the  prospect  of  the  interview 
was  appalling;  the  dread  of  ruining  his  friend  and  the 
dread  of  lying  made  his  heart  throb  with  a  horrible  anx- 
iety such  as  he  had  never  before  known.  He  walked  on 
steadily,  trying  to  think  that  he  was  going  to  shield  the 
man  who  had  been  to  him  friend  as  well  as  tutor,  yet  with 
a  faint  perception  even  then  that  John  Desmond's  noblest 
course  of  action  would  have  been  to  surrender  himself,  and 
plead  guilty  to  manslaughter  in  a  moment  of  frenzy.  They 
could  scarcely  have  called  the  affair  wilful  murder,  and  the 


DOREEN  41 

tutor's  impulse  to  disappear  and  save  Mrs.  Hereford  and 
Miriam  from  all  the  wretchedness  of  being  mixed  up  in 
such  a  case  was  perhaps  more  chivalrous  than  wise  or 
honest.  Doreen's  talk  about  the  men  who  had  been  hung 
for  rescuing  the  Fenian  prisoners  returned  to  him,  however, 
unpleasantly. 

"At  least  my  part  is  clear,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  these 
thoughts  rushed  through  his  mind.  "  I  have  sworn  secrecy, 
and  must  at  all  costs  hold  my  tongue,  however  much  I  may 
wish  that  he  would  have  confessed  to  it  himself." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  library ;  he  opened  the 
door  for  his  mother,  and  followed  her  into  the  room,  nod- 
ding to  the  constables,  whom  he  knew  by  sight,  and  bowing 
to  the  keen-eyed,  somewhat  cadaverous-looking  man  in 
plain  clothes,  to  whom  Mrs.  Hereford  introduced  him.  The 
detective  was  disappointed  to  find  such  a  very  young, 
boyish-looking  Mr.  Hereford.  A  fresh-faced,  genial,  good- 
tempered  school-boy,  he  thought  to  himself,  imagining  as  he 
looked  into  Max  Hereford's  well-opened,  fearless  eyes,  that 
he  could  read  him  like  a  book. 

"  I  need  not  trouble  you  with  many  questions,  sir,"  he 
said ;  "  you  will  have  heard  from  Mrs.  Hereford  of  the  dis- 
appearance of  Lord  Byfield's  agent,  Mr.  James  Foxell  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Max.  "  My  mother  has  just  been  telling  me 
about  it." 

"  You  had  heard  nothing  of  it  before,  I  suppose  ?  "  He 
looked  him  through  and  through  as  he  put  this  question. 

"  Yes,"  said  Max ;  "  I  was  walking  outside  the  grounds 
early  this  morning  with  the  doctor,  and  Mrs.  Keoghn  told 
me  that  the  village  was  all  astir  about  it." 

"  And  yet  you  said  nothing  about  it  on  returning  home  ? 
How  was  that  ?  "  said  the  detective. 

"I  purposely  said  nothing,"  said  Max  steadily.  "My 
mother  is  not  strong,  and  I  knew  the  story  would  trouble 
her  and  make  her  nervous." 

"  I  see  that  this  boy  is  older  and  more  thoughtful  than 
\  imagined  at  first  si^ht  of  him,"  thought  the  detective, 


42  DOREEAT 

"  By  the  bye,  Mr.  Hereford,"  he  said,  "  can  you  throw  any 
light  on  Foxell's  movements  yesterday  ?  " 

"  I  heard  that  he  was  here  at  the  Castle  at  nine  o'clock," 
said  Max,  marvelling  at  his  own  composure.  "But  you 
have  probably  been  able  to  trace  him  later  than  that  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  his  wife  saw  him  at  ten,  but  further  than  that  we 
can  get  no  clue.  He  told  her  to  expect  him  at  seven  in  the 
evening,  and,  as  you  know,  never  returned.  Did  you  see 
him  yesterday  ?  " 

"  When  he  was  here  ?  No ;  I  merely  heard  that  he  had 
called  to  speak  to  my  mother." 

"  When  did  you  last  have  speech  with  him  ?  " 

Max  paused  for  a  moment;  his  breath  came  fast,  but  he 
still  maintained  a  sort  of  ghastly  composure ;  then  remem- 
bering that  on  the  fatal  afternoon  he  had  only  exchanged 
words  with  old  Larry  and  his  wife,  and  that  it  had  been 
Desmond  who  had  remonstrated  throughout  with  the 
agent,  he  said  quietly,  "I  don't  think  I  have  spoken  to 
him  since  Sunday  as  we  came  out  of  church." 

With  that  his  ordeal  ended,  and  with  relief  he  found 
that  his  mother  was  urging  him  to  go  out,  and  speaking  of 
some  commission  which  she  wanted  him  to  see  to  at  Kil- 
beggan. 

"  I  will  order  the  car  to  be  brought  round  at  once,"  she 
said.  "You  will  be  doing  a  service  to  Mr.  Desmond  by 
fetching  this  medicine,  and  already  you  look  quite  ill  with 
sitting  so  much  in  his  room." 

Max  made  no  objection  to  the  plan,  and  as  he  drove 
along  the  mountain  road,  the  difficult  problem  filled  his 
mind,  was  it  a  greater  evil  to  tell  a  lie  or  to  break  an  oath  ? 
He  was  thankful  that  by  the  wording  of  the  detective's 
questions  he  had  just  been  able  to  steer  clear  of  either 
course,  and  yet  to  keep  the  man  at  bay,  but  the  strain 
of  the  interview  had  been  great,  and  he  dreaded  above 
all  things  to  be  put  through  a  second  examination.  Lit- 
tle Doreen  would  at  any  rate  be  saved  from  that.  And 
as  his  thoughts  turned  to  her  once  more^  an  idea  struck 


DOREEN^  43 

him  and  he  drove  to  no  less  than  three  shops  in  Kilbeggan 
in  search  of  a  certain  present  which  he  had  set  his  heart 
on  giving  her. 

The  nightly  game  of  cribbage  was  going  on  in  the  little 
parlour  that  evening,  when  Mrs.  Keoghn  entered  with  the 
lamp  in  one  hand  and  a  parcel  in  the  other. 

"Nothing  has  been  heard  of  the  agent,  ma'am,"  she 
remarked.  "  I  make  no  doubt  he's  come  to  some  dreadful 
end." 

"Oh,  I  hope  not,"  said  Mrs.  O'Ryan,  endeavouring  to 
hush  up  the  good  landlady,  as  she  noticed  that  Doreen's 
eyes  had  a  startled  look  in  them,  and  that  her  lips  grew 
white.     "  What  is  that  parcel  ?  " 

"  Sure,  thin,  ma'am,  'tis  for  Miss  Doreen ;  Mr.  Hereford 
has  just  left  it ;  he's  been  to  Kilbeggan." 

"  See,  mother,"  said  Doreen,  recovering  her  self-posses- 
sion. "  It  is  the  present  he  owed  me.  We  had  a  double 
cherry  at  the  picnic  last  week,  and  I  was  the  first  to  speak 
the  next  day." 

Hastily  unfolding  the  paper,  she  saw  with  delight  a 
bronze  crucifix,  and  beneath  it,  hanging  by  chains  to  the 
two  arms  of  the  cross,  a  tiny  bronze  lamp,  with  the  wick 
already  prepared,  and  a  slip  of  paper  with  the  comfort- 
ing assurance  that  when  filled  the  lamp  would  burn  seven 
hours.  The  dread  of  a  second  night  which  had  been  weigh- 
ing upon  her  all  day  passed  away  now ;  and  perhaps  no 
gift  ever  given  her  brought  such  a  rapture  of  relief  and 
pleasure,  or  filled  her  with  such  intense  gratitude  to  the 
donor. 


CHAPTER  V. 

*♦  Be  my  epitaph  writ  on  my  country's  mind, 
'  He  seevbd  his  country,  and  loved  mankind.'  " 

Thomas  Davis. 

"  How  much  time  do  you  give  me,  doctor  ?  " 

The  questioner  lay  in  one  of  the  berths  of  a  stateroom 
on  an  Atlantic  steamer ;  he  was  a  man  of  sixty,  though  his 
deeply  lined  face  and  silvery  hair  made  him  look  older. 
His  hollow  cheeks  and  emaciated  form  told  their  own  tale, 
and  so  did  the  over-bright  eyes,  which  now  looked  keenly 
into  the  doctor's  embarrassed  face. 

"I  fear,  Mr.  0'E.yan,  that  the  time  is  but  short,  —  that 
you  can  scarcely  hope  to  reach  England." 

The  sick  man  laughed. 

"  And  I  don't  know  that  I  should  break  my  heart  about 
that,"  he  said  in  a  tone  free  from  all  bitterness,  and 
full  of  a  humour  which  at  such  a  time  struck  the  doctor  as 
pathetic.  "England,  you  know,  was  my  prison  house  for 
five  years.  Will  I  live  to  reach  Queenstown,  do  you 
think?" 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"  My  dear  sir,  if  you  will  have  the  plain  truth,  I  fear  that 
it  is  but  a  question  of  hours.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do 
for  you  ?  " 

The  dying  man  sighed.  "  Send  Doreen  to  me,"  he  said, 
"  and  tell  my  wife  that  I  am  now  free  from  pain.  Is  there 
no  possibility  of  letting  me  see  her  ?  " 

44 


DOREENT  45 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  it  is  out  of  the  question,"  said  the  doc- 
tor decidedly.  "  For  the  children's  sake,  you  would  not  let 
her  run  any  risk.     I  will  send  your  daughter  to  you." 

Patrick  O'Ryan  thanked  him  courteously,  and  lay  with 
closed  eyes,  musing  over  the  past,  certain  lines  of  patient 
endurance  first  traced  by  the  years  in  Portland  Prison 
becoming  more  distinctly  visible  about  his  mouth.  He  had 
faced  death  too  often  to  fear  it,  and  the  manner  of  his  death 
pleased  him  well  enough.  He  knew  that  he  should  take  his 
place  in  that  long  line  of  patriots  who  have  laid  down  their 
lives  for  Ireland.  Nearly  six  years  ago  he  had  come  out  of 
gaol  with  his  health  undermined,  —  now  with  unexpected 
suddenness  the  end  had  come,  just  as  he  was  leaving  America 
for  London,  there  to  embark  on  fresh  and  congenial  work, 
and  to  enjoy  Doreen's  first  appearance  as  a  public  singer. 

The  sound  of  some  one  at  the  door  made  him  open  his 
keen  blue  eyes.  He  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  doctor  had 
told  his  daughter  the  truth;  for  Doreen's  face,  which  had 
been  singularly  young  and  girlish  for  her  eighteen  years, 
had  strangely  altered ;  it  was  stamped  now  with  a  look  of 
grief  and  care  which  went  to  his  heart. 

"  Child,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand  in  his,  "  you  must  not 
fret  over  me.     Is  there  a  priest  on  board  ?  " 

"No,  father,"  she  said,  with  deep  regret;  for  she  knew 
that  he,  as  a  devout  Roman  Catholic,  would  feel  the  depriva- 
tion in  a  way  which  she,  who  had  been  brought  up  to  share 
her  mother's  opinions,  could  not  fully  enter  into. 

"  Well,  it  can't  be  helped,"  he  replied.  "  It  sometimes 
happens  on  the  battle-field  that  two  soldiers  have  to  confess 
to  each  other."  And  with  his  hands  folded  between  hers 
he  made  his  shrift. 

"  Oh,  if  I,  too,  could  tell  father  what  happened  at  Lough 
Lee ! "  thought  Doreen.  "  Might  I  rightly  break  my  oath 
to  ask  advice  of  one  who  is  leaving  the  world  ?  " 

The  temptation  was  strong,  but  she  thought  of  Max 
Hereford's  words  in  the  fernery,  and  was  silent.  Gradu- 
ally, too,  all  her  thoughts  became  absorbed  in  her  father's 


46  DOREEN 

words;  when  he  had  ended,  there  was  a  long  silence. 
Nothing  was  to  be  heard  save  the  swish  of  the  waves 
against  the  steamer,  and  the  ceaseless  throbbing  of  the 
engine,  which  to  her  fancy  seemed  eternally  playing  the 
tune  of  "God  save  Ireland."  There  had  been  something 
pathetic  in  the  extreme  simplicity  of  the  confession  to 
which  she  had  listened.  This  rebel,  who  had  twice  tried 
unsuccessfully  to  free  his  country  from  oppression,  failing 
because  he  had  tried  in  mistaken  ways  and  before  the  times 
were  ripe,  —  had  not  only  the  devoted  courage  which  char- 
acterizes the  pioneers  of  all  great  movements,  but  he  had, 
what  is  much  more  rare,  a  perfectly  childlike  faith. 

"I  have  been  thinking,"  he  said,  "it  will  save  much 
trouble  if  my  funeral  be  at  sea.  Don't  shrink  so,  mavour- 
neen.  What  does  it  matter?  I  would  sooner  lie  at  the 
bottom  of  the  Atlantic  than  in  an  English  grave,  and  it 
would  be  but  an  ill  opening  for  your  public  career,  to  have 
all  the  Irish  in  Liverpool  trooping  to  the  funeral  of  O'Eyan 
the  ex-convict." 

"  We  shall  touch  at  Queenstown,"  she  faltered. 

"  Yes ;  and  were  Ireland  freed  from  her  chains,  I  might 
feel  differently.  As  it  is  —  let  me  be  buried  at  sea.  Some 
day  when  this  new  scheme  ripens,  and  Home  Eule  brings 
peace  to  our  land,  why,  you  can  build  me  a  fine  monument 
at  Glasnevin  in  the  O'Connell  circle."  He  smiled  and 
stroked  her  cheek.  "  Oh,  it's  great  things  I  expect  of  you," 
he  added  tenderly,  while  her  tears  fell  fast.  "  Your  voice 
and  your  good  courage  will  serve  the  children  in  this  strait, 
and  will  serve  old  Ireland,  too,  if  I  mistake  not.  Do  you 
remember  the  last  time  we  were  together  at  Glasnevin? 
It  was  but  a  few  days  before  my  arrest ;  I  taught  you  to 
know  the  blackbird's  note,  and  we  looked  together  at  the 
graves  of  the  patriots,  and  you  learnt  Ellen  O'Leary's  poem 
and  said  it  to  me  once  when  you  came  to  see  me  at  Kil- 
mainham ;  don't  you  remember  it  ?  — 

"  I'm  very  sure,  if  right  took  place,  we'd  all  have  full  and  plenty  ; 
The  landlords  live  upon  our  toil,  and  leave  us  bare  and  empty." 


DOREEN'  47 

There  followed  some  hours  of  great  weakness  and  weari- 
ness, in  which  the  sweet-natured  patience  which  had  always 
characterized  Patrick  O'Ryan's  personal  character,  shone 
out  radiantly.  Early  in  the  morning,  when  the  doctor  had 
paid  his  visit  and  had  gone  to  report  progress  to  the  poor 
invalid  wife,  who  was  too  ill  to  be  moved,  Doreen  and 
Michael,  who  were  keeping  watch  beside  the  dying  man, 
heard  him  make  a  faint  request. 

"  Something  of  Newman's,"  he  said  dreamily. 

And  Doreen,  taking  up  a  book  from  the  open  portmanteau 
close  at  hand,  read  a  poem  which  she  knew  to  be  a  favourite 
with  her  father,  —  a  poem  which  perhaps  naturally  appealed 
to  one  whose  life  had  been  made  up  of  hard  fighting  and 
crushing  disappointment,  ending  with  a  far-distant  yet 
confident  hope. 

"  When  I  sink  down  in  gloom  or  fear, 
Hope  blighted  or  delay'd, 
Thy  whisper,  Lord,  my  heart  shall  cheer, 

*  'Tis  I,  be  not  afraid ! ' 

•*  Or  startled  at  some  sudden  blow, 
If  fretful  thoughts  I  feel, 
*  Fear  not,  it  is  but  I,'  shall  flow 
As  balm  my  wound  to  heal. 

**  Nor  will  I  quit  Thy  way,  though  foes 
Some  onward  pass  defend; 
From  each  rough  voice  the  watchword  goes, 

*  Be  not  afraid  !  .  .  .  a  friend  I ' 

•*  And  oh  I  when  judgment's  trumpet  clear 
Awakes  me  from  my  grave. 
Still  in  its  echo  may  I  hear, 

*  'Tis  Christ ;  He  comes  to  save.'  " 

As  she  ended,  his  eyes  opened  for  a  minute,  and  Doreen 
bent  down  to  listen  to  a  brief  whispered  message  for  her 
mother ;  then,  having  kissed  them  both,  he  lay  at  rest  for 
some  time,  a  sort  of  drowsiness  stealing  over  him  till  just 


48  DOREEN 

as  eight  bells  rang  his  lips  moved,  and  Doreen  again  bent 
forward,  thinking  that  he  wanted  something. 

She  caught  the  words,  —  "  God  save  Ireland ! " 

They  were  the  last  he  spoke. 

For  the  next  few  days  Doreen  felt  like  one  in  a  horrible 
dream.  But  the  glimpse  of  the  beautiful  harbour  at  Queens- 
town,  with  its  wide  welcoming  shores,  its  indescribable 
look  of  home,  roused  her  and  drew  her  back  to  the  actual 
needs  of  the  j)resent.  As  they  approached  England,  she 
became  more  and  more  absorbed  in  the  manifold  arrange- 
ments for  her  mother's  comfort,  and  in  the  care  of  Dermot, 
MoUre,  and  the  baby,  —  the  three  little  ones  who  had  been 
born  during  those  happy  years  at  New  York. 

Already  it  seemed  to  her  a  long,  long  time  since  she  had 
stood  with  Michael  on  the  deck,  listening  to  the  words  of 
the  burial  service  read  by  the  captain,  and  watching  the 
great  Atlantic  waves  as  they  surged  over  her  father's  coffin 
and  hid  it  from  view. 

Sorrow  and  anxiety,  and  long  nights  of  watching  with 
her  mother,  had  robbed  her  cheek  of  its  colour  and  sobered 
the  dancing  blue  eyes ;  nevertheless  there  was  still  a  look 
of  unquenchable  youth  and  spirit  in  the  face,  which  made 
the  careworn  lines  about  the  lips  seem  nothing  but  a 
mistake. 

"  How  soon  shall  we  be  in,  dear  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  O'Ryan 
faintly,  from  her  berth,  glancing  a  little  anxiously  at  the 
wild  confusion  which  prevailed  in  the  stateroom. 

"  They  said  it  would  be  half  an  hour  just  now,  mother," 
said  Doreen,  seizing  on  books,  clothes,  and  music,  and 
crowding  them  into  a  much-enduring  carpet-bag ;  then,  paus- 
ing to  catch  up  little  Bride,  the  baby  of  six  months  old, 
she  hastily  averted  an  impending  cry  with  a  snatch  of 
"  The  Meeting  of  the  Waters." 

She  sang  brightly,  so  brightly  that  one  might  have 
fancied  her  heart  was  as  light  as  it  had  been  six  years 
before  when  she  sang  to  the  Hereford s  at  Castle  Karey. 

"  Little  time-waster ! "  she  said  tenderly,  as  she  put  the 


DOREEN'  49 

child  down  on  the  floor  again  between  two  small  people 
of  five  and  three.  "Now  play  with  Dermot  and  Mollio, 
there's  a  doat,.and  leave  me  the  nse  of  my  hands,  for  in 
truth  they've  enough  to  do." 

Just  then  there  came  a  tap  at  the  cabin  door,  and  a  brisk, 
cheery-looking  American  woman  entered.  She  must  have 
been  about  forty,  but  looked  younger,  owing  to  her  trim 
figure,  and  fresh,  rosy  cheeks  with  their  high  cheek-bones  ; 
her  hard,  shiny,  bright  face  always  reminded  Doreen  of  a 
well-polished  apple,  while  her  eyes,  small,  dark,  and  twin- 
kling, were  like  the  eyes  of  a  robin. 

"  Can  I  help  you,  miss  ?  "  she  asked ;  and  scarcely  waiting 
for  permission  or  thanks  she  began  to  do  everything  that 
had  to  be  done,  strapping  bags  and  portmanteaux,  dressing 
the  baby,  and  chatting  to  little  Dermot  and  Mollie,  while 
Doreen  was  set  free  to  wait  on  her  mother,  who  looked  very 
unfit  for  the  move  on  shore. 

Hagar  Muchmore  was  migrating  from  her  New  England 
home  to  Liverpool  to  visit  her  only  son,  who,  somewhat  to 
his  mother's  dismay,  had  married  on  his  twenty-first  birth- 
day a  woman  several  years  his  senior.  The  news  had 
perturbed  Hagar,  and  she  had  resolved  to  cross  the  Atlantic 
and  see  for  herself  whether  the  match  were  satisfactory  or 
not.  The  villagers  at  Salem  had  remonstrated  with  her 
for  wasting  her  money  on  such  an  expedition,  but  Hagar 
thought  peace  in  the  heart  was  worth  more  than  gold  in 
the  bank ;  she  drew  out  her  savings  and  started  for  England, 
enjoying  the  thought  of  the  pleasant  surprise  she  was  pre- 
paring for  her  boy. 

The  crossing  would,  however,  have  been  both  dull  and 
lonely  for  her  had  it  not  been  for  the  great  interest  she  had 
taken  in  the  O'Ryans.  Many  people  had  sympathized  with 
them,  had  patted  the  children  on  the  head,  or  filled  Michael's 
pockets  with  chocolate,  or  said  kind  words  to  Doreen.  But 
Hagar  Muchmore  had  thrown  her  whole  heart  into  the  sor- 
rows of  these  fatherless  children,  had  identified  herself  witli 
them,  had  waited  on  Mrs.  O'Ryan  as  though  she  had  been 


50  DOREEN' 

her  own  maid,  and  had  learnt  to  love  them  almost  as  much 
as  though  she  had  nursed  them  and  cared  for  them  all  their 
lives. 

"  The  doctor  says  my  mother  must  not  travel  to  London 
yet,"  said  Doreen.  "He  has  told  us  of  rooms  in  Grove 
Street,  where  the  terms  would  not  be  very  high.  Do  you 
know  whether  it  is  far  from  the  landing-quay  ?  " 

"  No,  miss,"  said  Hagar ;  "  I^m  as  new  to  this  country  as 
you  are.  But  I  can  find  out  from  the  stewardess.  And 
I'm  thinking  I  would  just  as  soon  come  round  with  you 
there  and  settle  you  in  before  going  to  my  son )  for  he'll  not 
be  back  from  his  work  till  night,  I  guess,  and  I'm  in  no 
such  haste  to  see  his  wife." 

Doreen's  face  lighted  up. 

"  Oh,  what  a  comfort  you  will  be  ! "  she  said.  "  I  was 
wondering  how  I  should  ever  manage  with  the  little  ones 
and  yet  be  free  to  help  my  mother.  How  kind  every  one 
is!" 

She  took  little  Mollie  in  her  arms  and  carried  her  on 
deck,  receiving  friendly  farewells  from  several  of  the 
passengers,  and  soon  descrying  Michael,  not  as  she  had 
expected,  however,  among  his  friends  the  sailors,  but  stand- 
ing apart  looking  with  wistful  eyes  at  the  crowded  landing- 
quay. 

"  Will  you  mind  Mollie  for  a  minute,  while  I  see  to  the 
others?"  she  said,  noticing  that  there  were  tears  in  the 
brown  eyes  that  looked  anxiously  up  at  her. 

"  Doreen !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  heard  that  old  lady  with 
the  curls  telling  her  husband  that  mother  would  never  be 
better ;  she  said  it  would  be  a  dreadful  thing  for  you  to  be 
—  to  be  left  —  with  all  those  children  on  your  hands." 

"  Nonsense  ! "  said  Doreen  hastily,  yet  with  an  odd  chok- 
ing in  her  throat.  "  She  knows  nothing  about  it.  Mother 
may  be  much  the  better  for  the  change,  and  for  seeing 
auntie.  I  shall  write  to  auntie  to-night  and  beg  her  to 
come  to  Liverpool,  as  we  can't  go  straight  to  London." 

Michael  looked  relieved,  but  his  burden  seemed  to  have 


DOKEEI\r  51 

transferred  itself  to  Doreen,  who  went  back  to  the  state- 
room with  an  aching  heart  and  a  mind  full  of  heavy  fore- 
bodings. She  seemed  to  see  her  mother  now  with  different 
eyes,  for  the  first  time  fully  realizing  how  worn  and  thin 
her  face  had  become  during  the  last  few  days,  and  how 
slight  a  hold  she  seemed  to  have  of  the  world. 

"People  always  look  worse  when  they  first  wear  their 
walking-things,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  It  is  the  bonnet  that 
makes  her  look  so  ill,  and  the  excitement  of  landing  that 
has  brought  that  horrid  little  flush  to  her  cheeks.  Oh,  Dr. 
Lewis,  have  you  come  to  help  us  ?  That  is  very  good  of 
you !  "  she  exclaimed,  as  the  ship's  doctor  entered  with  the 
steward's  mate  behind  him. 

"  We'll  get  Mrs.  O'Kyan  on  shore  if  you  will  see  to  your 
little  people  on  deck,"  said  the  doctor.  *"  Young  Vanheim 
is  attending  to  your  luggage,  so  you  need  not  have  any 
anxiety  about  that." 

"  And  I'll  see  to  the  baby,"  said  Hagar  Muchmore,  skir- 
mishing round  the  stateroom  in  search  of  anything  that 
might  be  left,  like  a  kindly  bird  of  prey. 

So  with  good-natured  help  and  friendly  farewells  and 
much  sympathy  the  sad  little  group  was  set  on  shore,  and 
Doreen,  looking  at  the  busy  streets  of  Liverpool,  fancied 
that,  after  all,  this  strange  country  had  a  sort  of  homelike 
air,  and  that  she  should  soon  grow  to  love  it.  Thanks  to 
the  doctor's  recommendation,  they  had  no  difficulty  in  getting 
rooms,  and  before  long  Hagar  Muchmore  had  settled  the 
four  children  round  a  comfortable  tea-table,  which,  as  she 
remarked,  would  keep  them  quiet  for  a  good  half-hour;  and 
Doreen,  having  helped  her  mother  to  bed,  was  able  to  write 
to  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Garth.  She  snatched  up  pen  and  paper, 
but  somehow  to  begin  was  a  difficult  matter.  Some  letters 
are  hard  to  write,  from  dearth  of  anything  to  say ;  others 
are  hard  because  there  is  so  much  that  must  be  said, — 
such  ill  news  to  convey,  such  sorrow  to  restrain,  such  fear 
for  the  future  that  must  be  hinted  at,  yet  not  too  clearly 
expressed.     Doreen  opened  her  inkstand,  then  she  sat  with 


52  DOREEN 

her  head  resting  on  her  hands,  vainly  struggling  to  clothe 
her  thoughts  in  words.  Eoused  at  length  by  the  remem- 
brance that  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  she  forced  herself 
to  write  the  brief  lines  which  should  summon  Mrs.  Garth  to 
Liverpool. 

"My  Deab  Auntie:  —  We  have  just  arrived  in  England  and  are 
in  sad  trouble.  My  father  had  an  attack  of  spasms  of  the  heart  and 
died  two  days  after  leaving  New  York ;  and  mother,  who  was  never 
very  strong,  and  who  has  been,  as  you  know,  since  Bride  was  born, 
quite  an  invalid,  seems  as  if  she  could  not  rally  from  this  great 
shock.  The  doctor  will  not  hear  of  letting  her  travel  to  London,  but 
she  has  counted  very  much  on  seeing  you,  and  begs  that,  if  possible, 
you  will  come  to  us  here.  I  think  she  will  not  rest  till  she  has  seen 
you ;  so  that  if  you  could  come  at  once,  it  would  be  a  great  comfort. 
Your  affectionate  niece,  Dokeen  O'Ryan." 

Hagar  Muchmore  posted  the  letter  when  she  set  off  in 
search  of  her  son's  home,  and  poor  Doreen,  feeling  very 
desolate  and  burdened,  despatched  Michael  to  keep  guard 
in  his  mother's  room,  and  set  to  work  to  put  the  three  little 
ones  to  bed,  having  desperate  hunts  for  straying  night- 
gowns and  lost  brushes  and  combs,  and  sighing  many  a 
time  and  oft,  to  think  that  in  the  matter  of  orderliness 
she  should  have  failed  to  inherit  the  least  trace  of  her 
mother's  nature,  and  should  have  been  wholly  Irish. 

"But  at  any  rate  I  can  keep  them  in  good  humour  by 
singing,"  she  reflected,  and  spite  of  all  the  sorrow  that 
filled  her  heart  she  sang  whatever  Dermot  and  Mollie 
begged  for,  from  "  Come  back  to  Erin  "  to  "  Kate  O'Shane," 
and  finally  left  them  sleeping  as  happily  as  though  one 
great  sorrow  had  not  just  passed  into  their  lives  while  a 
fresh  one  stood  waiting  at  the  threshold. 

But  when  her  own  work  was  done,  when  the  landlady 
had  been  interviewed  and  provisions  ordered,  and  Michael 
cheered  Avith  hopeful  words  and  tucked  up  in  bed,  proud 
to  think  himself  in  charge  of  the  little  ones,  Doreen  was 
so  weary  that  to  sleep  was  impossible.  She  lighted  her 
little  night-lamp  and  then  lay  down  beside  her  mother, 


DOREEN-  53 

aching  in  every  limb  and  with  ears  still  on  the  alert 
to  catch  any  sounds  from  her  small  charges  in  the  next 
room,  yet  afraid  in  her  restless  wakefulness  to  stir,  lest  the 
sleep  into  which  the  invalid  had  fallen  should  be  broken. 
It  was  all  very  well  to  speak  hopefully  to  Michael,  but  the 
fears  that  had  troubled  the  boy's  heart  began  now  to  trouble 
her,  to  force  themselves  upon  her  notice,  to  refuse  to  be 
stifled  as  she  had  hitherto  contrived  to  stifle  them. 

And  then  all  the  dreams,  the  ambitious  plans,  of  her  girl- 
hood came  back  to  her  with  a  bitter  sense  that  just  as  they 
were  beginning  to  become  practical  possibilities,  her  desire 
for  them  had  faded  utterly  away.  What  did  she  care  now 
for  the  chance  of  becoming  a  great  public  singer?  The 
mother  who  was  to  have  enjoyed  her  triumph  was  dying. 
What  could  she  care  now  for  the  rights  of  Ireland,  when 
the  father  whose  sufferings  had  wrung  her  heart  would 
not  be  there  to  rejoice  in  the  progress  of  the  cause  ?  The 
rain  came  driving  against  the  window,  the  wind  howled 
drearily  down  the  narrow  street,  and  Doreen  lay  looking 
at  the  familiar  shadow  cast  by  the  crucifix  on  the  wall  and 
wondering  if  all  her  life  it  would  happen  that  the  good 
things  so  long  waited,  so  eagerly  hoped  for,  should  come 
invariably  hand  in  hand  with  sorrow.  Very  vividly  she 
remembered  how,  when  at  length  her  father's  imprisonment 
had  ended  and  they  had  met  him  once  more,  the  happiness 
of  the  reunion  had  been  most  sadly  marred  by  the  dreadful 
secret  that  had  been  weighing  on  her  heart.  Time  had 
softened  to  some  extent  the  misery  of  the  remembrance  of 
that  afternoon  on  Lough  Lee ;  it  had  ceased  to  be  a  con- 
tinual burden  to  her,  for  her  nature  was  too  buoyant  to  be 
crushed  for  very  long,  and,  fortunately,  she  was  not  given 
to  brooding  over  anything.  Still,  there  were  times  when 
the  past  became  fearfully  vivid,  times  when  she  was  filled 
with  a  most  dreadful  craving  to  see  Max  Hereford  once 
more,  —  the  one  person  in  the  world  to  whom  she  might 
speak  of  what  had  passed  on  that  last  day  of  her  childhood. 

"  My  darling,"  said  Mrs.  O'Ryan,  opening  her  eyes  and 


54  DOREEN 

taking  the  girPs  hand  in  hers,  "  I  am  afraid  you  have  not 
slept.  You  are  sadly  tired.  What  is  the  time  ?  I  am 
feeling  so  much  better." 

"  The  clock  has  just  struck  two,  mother ;  you  have  had 
a  longer  sleep  than  usual." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  the  invalid.  "  Lie  still,  dear ;  I  want 
nothing.  What  was  the  name,  Doreen,  of  those  people  at 
Castle  Karey  ?     I  have  been  dreaming  about  them." 

"  Their  name  was  Hereford,"  said  Doreen,  glancing  at  the 
crucifix.  "  Mr.  Hereford  always  sends  Christmas  cards  to 
Michael  and  me.  I  believe  he  must  still  think  I  am  quite 
a  little  girl,  for  last  year  it  was  a  picture  of  a  robin  singing 
to  a  harp;  just  an  absurd  thing,  more  fit  for  Dermot  or 
Mollie  than  for  me  ! " 

"Where  did  they  live  in  England  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  O'Ryan. 

"  Somewhere  in  the  South,  I  think,"  said  Doreen.  "  Fir- 
dale  was  the  name  of  their  nearest  town." 

"  I  had  a  dream  that  they  were  very  good  to  you,"  said 
her  mother.  "  I  wish  it  may  come  true,  for  I  am  leaving 
you  with  but  few  friends  and  with  many  cares." 

"Oh,  mother,  don't  talk  like  that!"  said  Doreen,  tears 
choking  her  voice. 

"  I  should  like  to  be  spared  to  my  children ;  but,  in  any 
case,"  (she  stroked  Doreen's  hand  tenderly,)  "it  does  not 
bring  death  nearer  to  speak  of  what  may  happen.  Your 
father  has  left  Donal  Moore  his  sole  executor ;  he  will  help 
and  advise  you  about  the  children :  there  is  not  a  kinder, 
better  man  living.  It  would,  of  course,  be  possible  for  me 
to  leave  your  uncle  and  aunt  co-guardians,  but  I  think  it 
will  be  better  not.  To  them  Donal  Moore  is  no  doubt  only 
a  dangerous  agitator,  newly  released  from  prison;  they 
might  not  work  well  together.  I  would  rather  that  you 
and  Donal  shared  the  guardianship  of  the  little  ones,  though 
I  know  auntie  will  always  be  ready  to  help  you,  and  you 
will  naturally  turn  to  her  in  any  trouble." 

"  What  is  Uncle  Garth  like  ?  "  asked  Doreen.  "  I  can't 
recall  him  well." 


DOREEN-  55 

"  I  know  very  little  of  him,  save  that  he  is  a  good,  honest 
man,  clever  and  very  silent.  The  Garths  were  Tories  of 
the  old  school,  a  delightful  family,  full  of  old-fashioned 
hospitality;  they  siully  disapproved  of  my  marriage,  but 
were  very  kind  to  me,  for  all  that.  Yet,  somehow,  I  carmot 
think  that  Uncle  Garth  and  Donal  Moore  could  ever  pull 
together,  specially  as  your  uncle  is  a  strong  Protestant,  and 
as  the  boys  must  be  brought  up  in  their  father's  faith 
according  to  our  agreement.  If  they  do  come  across  each 
other,  you  will  have  to  play  the  part  of  peacemaker." 

"  My  temper  is  too  hot  for  that  part,"  said  Doreen.  "  It 
is  you,  mother,  who  will  manage  to  bring  them  together  and 
smooth  the  rough  places." 

Mrs.  O'Ryan  sighed. 

"  If  I  live,"  she  said,  "  I  doubt  whether  I  can  be  anything 
but  a  burden  and  an  expense,  and  God  knows  there  is 
little  enough  for  you  all  to  live  upon." 

"  Oh,  mother,  mother,  don't ! "  sobbed  Doreen.  "  Have  I 
not  got  my  voice  that  the  maestro  told  us  would  some  day 
make  our  fortune  ?  And  what  do  I  care  for  it  if  you  are 
not  here  ?  " 

"The  thought  that  at  least  you  have  that  is  my  great 
comfort,"  said  Mrs.  O'Ryan.  "A  sweet  voice,  a  good  train- 
ing, and  a  brave  heart,  —  with  these  you  are  left  to  face  the 
world  and  to  support  four  children.  Michael  is  but  twelve, 
and  can  be  nothing  but  an  expense  to  you  for  many  years. 
It  is  a  terrible  burden  to  leave  to  a  girl  of  eighteen." 

"It  would  be  far  worse  without  the  children,  mother; 
at  least  I  shall  have  them  to  work  for :  it  will  seem  worth 
while,'^  said  Doreen.  "Besides,  father  said  something  of 
money  invested  in  some  railway." 

"  It  is  very  little,"  said  Mrs.  O'Ryan ;  "  it  would  not  realize 
more  than  four  hundred  pounds.  Donal  Moore  will  see  to 
that  for  you,  and  God  grant  it  may  keep  you  until  you  begin 
to  earn  money  enough  for  your  needs.  It  is  strange  how 
vividly  I  dream  now.  It  still  seems  almost  like  something 
that  really  happened,  that  talk  with  Mrs.  Hereford  and  her 


56  DOREEN' 

son;  I  should  like  to  think  you  would  come  across  them 
again.  It  must  have  been,  I  suppose,  some  remembrance 
of  the  old  days  when  he  used  to  come  and  persuade  me  to 
let  you  go  with  them  on  some  expedition,  but  I  seemed  to 
hear  his  voice  saying,  just  as  he  used  to  then :  ^  I  will  take 
such  care  of  her.'  What  became  of  that  tutor  who  was 
taken  ill  with  brain  fever  ?  " 

"  He  was  getting  better  when  we  left,  they  said,"  replied 
Doreen ;  "  but  since  then  I  have  heard  nothing  about  him." 

She  pressed  her  lips  tightly  together,  for  once  more 
there  came  upon  her  the  old,  burning  desire  to  tell  every- 
thing to  her  mother.  The  unreasoning  wish  was  all  the 
more  difficult  to  resist  because  of  her  exhausted  state, 
while  the  sense  that  the  time  left  to  her  was  short,  that 
soon  all  chance  of  unburdening  her  mind  would  be  over, 
weighed  upon  her  with  an  intolerable  oppression.  Could  it 
be  wrong  to  tell  now,  to  unburden  her  soul  to  one  who  was 
leaving  the  world,  to  win  that  counsel  and  sympathy  for 
which  she  craved  so  terribly? 

The  temptation  was  strong,  so  strong  that  again  and 
again  it  nearly  overmastered  her.  Was  she  to  fight  so 
desperately  all  for  the  sake  of  a  stranger  who,  for  aught 
she  knew,  might  be  dead  ?  Was  she  to  be  silent  now  when 
probably  all  danger  was  over  ?  Had  she,  indeed,  ever  been 
right  to  keep  such  a  thing  from  her  mother  ?  "  Help  me, 
God!  Help  me,  God!"  she  cried  desperately;  and,  as  if 
in  answer,  there  rose  before  her  a  vision  of  the  lovely  fern- 
ery at  Castle  Karey,  and  of  the  little  Keep,  and  of  Max 
Hereford's  clear,  truthful  eyes,  as  he  repeated  the  words  of 
the  oath,  and,  stooping  down,  kissed  her  for  the  first  time. 

"  I  will  be  true,"  she  said,  and,  venturing  to  raise  her- 
self a  little  on  her  elbow,  she  looked  at  her  mother  and 
found  that  in  the  long  silence  she  had  again  fallen  asleep 
quite  tranquilly.  Into  the  girl's  sanguine  heart  there 
instantly  rushed  a  glad  thought:  "I  have  been  true  to 
God;  perhaps — oh,  perhaps  —  He  will,  after  all,  spare 
mother  to  us." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  Sweet  thoughts,  bright  dreams,  my  comforts  be, 
All  comfort  else  has  flown  ; 
For  every  hope  was  false  to  me, 

And  here  I  am  alone. 
What  thoughts  were  mine  in  early  youth  I 

Like  some  old  Irish  song, 
Brimful  of  love,  and  life,  and  truth, 
My  spirit  gushed  along." 

Thomas  Davis. 

Doreen's  letter  arrived  in  Bloomsbury  the  next  morning, 
and  lay  on  the  breakfast  table  to  greet  the  mistress  of  the 
house,  without  any  black  border  to  herald  its  contents.  At 
sight  of  the  Liverpool  postmark,  Aunt  Garth  caught  it  up 
eagerly,  and  over  her  worn  and  somewhat  sad  face  there 
flitted  a  smile  of  content. 

"  They  have  landed,  then ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  and  to-day 
I  shall  see  Mary  again  after  all  these  years  of  separation ! " 

In  outward  appearance  the  two  sisters  were  much  alike ; 
but  Mrs.  Garth,  though  her  life  had  apparently  been  much 
less  trying,  looked,  nevertheless,  sadder  than  Mrs.  O'Ryan, 
who,  spite  of  poverty  and  sorrow,  and  the  long  imprisonment 
of  her  husband,  had  retained  a  marvellous  youthfulness  and 
buoyancy  which  was  lacking  in  her  sister.  There  was  some- 
thing very  winning,  however,  in  Aunt  Garth's  face ;  a  sort  of 
quiet  strength  was  the  first  thing  that  impressed  all  who 
observed  her,  but  scarcely  anyone  really  knew  her:  she  lived 
a  life  apart,  even  while  forming  the  very  centre  and  main- 
spring of  her  household.  Some  people  were  bold  enough 
to  question  whether  even  Uncle  Garth  himself  really  under- 

57 


58  DOREEJSr 

stood  her,  and  perhaps  he  did  not,  being  a  man  who  accepted 
the  great  facts  of  life  with  the  unquestioning  faith  of  a 
child,  and  probably  troubling  himself  very  little  about  them. 
He  was  a  good  man  and  a  good  husband,  but  the  enthusiasm 
of  his  nature  spent  itself  in  his  daily  work  at  the  British 
Museum,  and  ancient  Egypt  was  far  more  real  to  him  than 
modern  England,  while  as  to  Ireland,  it  was  to  him  as 
Prince  Metternich  would  have  said,  —  merely  "  a  geographi- 
cal expression."  Egyptology,  however,  had  not  at  all  inter- 
fered with  his  kindliness  of  heart ;  absent  and  preoccupied 
he  might  be,  but  if  once  roused  to  the  perception  that  other 
people  needed  his  help,  nothing  could  exceed  his  readiness 
to  serve  them. 

He  was  in  a  particularly  absent  mood  that  morning,  his 
mind  being  full  of  some  recent  discoveries  made  at  Alexan- 
dria, and  his  wife  knew  that  it  would  be  of  no  use  attempt- 
ing to  make  him  listen  to  anything  until  he  had  opened  the 
letter  with  the  Egyptian  stamp  which  awaited  him.  His 
dreamy  gray  eyes  lighted  up  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  little 
view  of  the  pyramid  and  the  Sphinx  upon  his  plate,  and  Aunt 
Garth  went  quietly  about  the  table,  cutting  bread  and  put- 
ting eggs  in  the  egg-boiler  and  pouring  out  coffee,  with  now 
and  then  a  rather  wistful  glance  towards  the  gray  head 
bent  over  the  sheets  of  large  foreign  paper.  There  is  a 
popular  notion  that  antiquarians  and  men  of  science  are  all 
shaggy,  wild-looking,  and  unkempt ;  but  Uncle  Garth —  pos- 
sibly owing  to  his  wife's  exertions  —  was  a  particularly 
well-clothed,  well-brushed  man,  and  had  an  indefinable  air 
of  good  preservation,  from  his  closely  cropped  gray  head 
and  short  gray  beard  to  his  faultless  boots. 

"  I  have  had  a  letter  from  Doreen,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Garth, 
when  at  length  the  letter  from  Egypt  was  folded  up  and  a 
possible  pause  in  Uncle  Garth's  reflections  arrived,  owing  to 
the  necessity  of  decapitating  an  egg,  —  a  ceremony  which  he 
always  performed  with  scrupulous  care  after  a  peculiar 
method  of  his  own  invention.  "  She  writes  from  Liverpool 
in  great  trouble,  for  her  father  died  during  the  voyage." 


DOREEN  59 

"  What !  Patrick  dead ! "  exclaimed  Uncle  Garth,  with  a 
look  of  concern.  "  Poor  fellow,  —  poor  fellow  !  What  a 
wasted  life !  And  your  sister  and  those  five  children  but 
ill  provided  for,  I  am  afraid." 

"  I  should  fear  there  can  be  very  little  for  them,  though  I 
know  they  left  America  free  from  debt  and  were  hopeful 
about  some  appointment  which  he  had  got  in  London 
as  correspondent  to  one  of  the  Irish  papers,"  said  Mrs. 
Garth.  "Several  times  Mary  has  written  of  his  failing 
health;  he  has  never  really  been  well  since  he  was  in 
prison,"  she  said ;  "  being  ill-fitted  to  stand  the  rough  work 
he  had  to  do,  and  fretting  his  heart  out  all  those  five  years 
about  her  and  the  little  ones.  There  were  only  the  two  of 
them  then,  —  Doreen  and  little  Michael.  I  remember  stay- 
ing with  them  just  after  Michael's  birth,  Avhen  you  were  in 
Egypt,  —  it  must  have  been  the  year  before  he  was  arrested, 
—  and  his  devotion  to  the  children  was  wonderful  to  see. 
Doreen  used  to  follow  him  about  everywhere  like  a  little 
shadow." 

"It's  a  sad  business,"  said  Uncle  Garth  reflectively. 
"  He  was  a  very  good  fellow  and  pleasant  enough  to  talk 
with,  but  with  this  unlucky  craze  about  Irish  rights.  I 
remember  well  the  very  last  talk  I  had  with  him  when  he 
was  full  of  the  national  rights  and  the  national  duties,  and 
I  plainly  pointed  out  to  him  that  Ireland  being  wedded 
to  England  had  ceased  to  be  a  nation,  that  it  had  no  sep- 
arate rights,  that  it  was  in  fact  in  the  position  of  a  wife. 
But  these  Irish  fellows  are  so  impracticable,  one  might  as 
well  have  talked  to  the  winds.  Hopelessly  perverse  and 
headstrong,  the  whole  race  of  them ! " 

Aunt  Garth  smiled  ever  so  little,  having  divined  the 
weak  point  of  his  argument  with  its  frank  admission  of  the 
essential  difference  between  the  two  nationalities.  Then 
she  thought  of  her  sister,  and  her  face  grew  sad  once  more. 

"  I  fear  Mary  is  very  ill,  from  what  Doreen  says,"  she 
remarked,  handing  the  letter  across  the  table  to  her  hus- 
band. "If  you  don't  mind,  dear,  I  think  I  must  go  to 
them  to-day^  and  see  what  can  be  done  to  help  them." 


6o  DOREEN 

"  It  is  a  very  damp  day  for  you  to  risk  a  journey,"  said 
Uncle  Garth,  looking  up  from  the  letter.  *'  But  still,  this 
seems  urgent.  If  you  go  to-day,  I  might  run  down  from 
Saturday  to  Monday,  and  see  what  can  be  done  to  help 
them.    Poor  things !  it  is  a  sad  lookout  for  those  children." 

So  Aunt  Garth,  who  was  scarcely  allowed  out  of  the 
house  in  cold  weather,  owing  to  her  delicate  chest,  set  off 
by  the  morning  express  to  Liverpool,  and  arrived  in  Grove 
Street  that  afternoon,  tired  and  anxious,  and  chilled  to  the 
bone,  in  spite  of  the  sable  cloak  wrapped  closely  about  her. 
She  asked  for  Doreen,  and  was  ushered  by  a  shabby  maid- 
of-all-work  up  the  narrow  staircase.  At  the  foot  of  the 
second  flight,  however,  their  way  was  blocked  by  a  little 
blue-eyed  dreamy-looking  boy  with  sunny  brown  hair  cut 
across  his  forehead  and  hanging  in  short,  tangled  curls 
about  his  neck.  He  was  entirely  absorbed  in  the  story  of 
"  Rumpelstiltskin  "  which  a  boy  some  years  his  senior  was 
reading  aloud  to  him,  the  book  lying  on  the  top  stair  and 
the  reader  extended  at  full  length,  in  a  position  which  dis- 
played to  the  best  possible  advantage  his  well-patched 
knickerbockers  and  his  thin  legs. 

"  Master  Michael,"  said  the  servant,  "  get  up  quick, 
there's  a  good  boy ;  here's  a  lady  a  comin'  up." 

Michael  was  on  his  feet  in  a  minute. 

"  Oh,  auntie  ! "  he  cried.  "  How  glad  mother  will  be  to 
see  you!  We  were  afraid  it  would  be  too  cold  for  you  to 
come.     Shall  I  carry  your  bag  for  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Garth,  wondering  to  find  the  little  fellow  who  used 
to  visit  them,  on  his  way  to  Portland,  grown  into  this 
well-mannered  boy,  followed  him  as  he  led  the  way  into 
a  bedroom  close  by.  The  light  was  growing  dim,  and 
the  comfortless  look  of  the  lodgings  struck  her  painfully. 
A  pale,  slim  girl,  with  her  head  well  set  upon  her  shoulders, 
and  a  dignity  that  seemed  beyond  her  years,  came  quickly 
forward  with  eager  greetings,  carrying  in  her  arms  a  fret- 
ful baby,  while  on  the  bed,  she  caught  sight  of  another 
child  sitting  beside  the  motionless  figure  that  lay  there 
unheeding  all  that  passed  in  the  room. 


DOREEN  6l 

"How  sweet  of  you  to  come  at  once,"  said  Doreen,  with 
a  warmth  of  welcome  which  made  Mrs.  Garth's  sad  eyes 
shine.  "  Mother  is  not  exactly  asleep,  I  think,  but  all  day 
she  has  lain  like  that,  only  rousing  up  when  we  actually 
speak  to  her." 

Mrs.  Garth  moved  quietly  across  to  the  bedside,  and 
stood  for  some  moments,  looking  at  the  fragile  face  which 
yet  was  less  changed  than  she  had  feared. 

"I  will  take  off  my  bonnet,"  she  said,  "and  then  come 
back  to  stay  with  her.     Don't  disturb  her  just  yet." 

"  Michael  will  take  care  of  them  here  for  a  minute,  and 
I  will  show  you  your  room,"  said  Doreen.  "Oh,  Mrs. 
Muchmore ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  they  passed  out  on  to  the 
staircase.     "  Have  you  come  back  to  us  again  ?  " 

"Should  have  been  round  before,"  said  Hagar,  who  sel- 
dom employed  a  pronoun  if  she  could  help  it,  "  but  there 
was  no  leavin'  my  son  and  his  wife.  Guess  the  marriage 
will  turn  out  well,  after  all,  though  it  did  seem  a  flyin'  in 
the  face  of  Providence  which  ordained  that  man  should  be 
created  before  his  wife.     How's  Mis'  O'Eyan  ?  " 

"  She  has  been  drowsy  all  day,"  said  Doreen.  "  This 
is  my  aunt,  Mrs.  Garth,  who  has  just  arrived.  I  wish  you 
would  order  tea  to  be  brought  up  quickly ;  perhaps  mother 
would  take  a  little." 

"  Will  see  to  it,"  said  Hagar,  bustling  off,  while  Doreen, 
still  carrying  the  baby,  took  Mrs.  Garth  to  her  room,  talk- 
ing as  they  went  of  Hagar's  goodness  to  them  on  board. 

"  They  were  all  kind  to  us,"  she  said,  "  but  Mrs.  Much- 
more  was  our  good  angel."  Then,  laughing  a  little  at  the 
idea,  "She  is  not  much  like  the  conventional  angel  with 
yellow  ringlets  and  a  doll's  face,  is  she  ?  But  that  brisk, 
cheery  way  of  hers  kept  us  all  going  through  that  dreadful 
time." 

She  broke  off  abruptly.  Some  day,  perhaps,  she  might 
speak  freely  of  all  that  had  passed  at  the  time  of  her 
father's  death,  but  now  her  lips  were  locked,  not  only  by 
the  sense  that  all  her  powers  >vere  needed  to  cope  with  the 


62  DOREEN 

present  trouble,  but  by  that  curious  barrier  which  gener- 
ally, to  some  extent,  exists  between  those  of  different 
generations. 

When  they  returned  they  found  that  Hagar  Muchmore 
had  lighted  the  candles  and  drawn  down  the  blinds,  con- 
triving by  a  few  rapid  and  dexterous  touches  to  give  a 
somewhat  more  comfortable  air  to  the  whole  place.  Then 
she  carried  off  all  the  children  to  tea  in  the  lower  regions, 
promising  that  some  should  be  sent  up  in  a  few  minutes  to 
the  sick-room. 

"Mother,"  said  Doreen,  bending  down  to  kiss  the  inva- 
lid, "there  is  good  news  for  you.  Auntie  has  come;  see, 
she  is  waiting  to  speak  to  you." 

For  the  first  time  since  her  husband's  death  a  gleam  of 
pleasure  lit  up  Mrs.  O'K-yan's  face ;  for  a  little  while  she 
was  quite  roused,  and  lay  with  her  hand  clasped  in  her 
sister's,  listening  eagerly  to  all  that  she  had  to  tell,  and  to 
Doreen's  great  delight  seeming  even  to  enjoy  the  tea  when 
it  came.  The  poor  girl  had  no  experience  to  warn  her  that 
this  was  but  the  last  faint  flicker  of  the  flame,  and  that 
death  was  close  at  hand.  Once  more  her  buoyant  nature 
began  to  hope,  and  to  weave  countless  plans  for  the  future. 
She  laughed  and  chatted  with  the  children  as  she  put  them 
to  bed,  and  consented  without  hesitation  to  lie  down  for  a 
while  herself,  and  leave  the  first  watch  of  the  night  to  Mrs. 
Garth.  Her  aunt  was  loath  to  disturb  her ;  but  about  mid- 
night so  unmistakable  a  change  set  in  that  she  dared  not 
hesitate,  and  candle  in  hand  she  glided  into  the  quiet  room, 
glancing  first  at  Michael  and  little  Dermot  sound  asleep  in 
their  bed  in  the  corner,  with  "  Rumpelstiltskin  "  ready  for  an 
early  morning  hour,  then  crossing  the  room  to  the  other 
bed,  where,  with  the  baby's  cradle  within  reach,  and  with 
little  Mollie's  arms  clasped  about  her,  lay  Doreen.  The 
girl  looked  far  younger  asleep  than  awake;  the  curve  of 
her  cheek  against  the  pillow,  the  dimple  near  the  mouth, 
the  untroubled  calm  of  the  whole  face,  told  of  youth  and 
health.  She  yawned  with  the  abaudon  of  a  sleepy  child 
wlieii  \m  aunt  roused  J^er, 


DOREEN  63 

"  What,  time  to  get  up  already  ! "  she  exclaimed  drowsily ; 
then,  suddenly  noticing  the  strange  voice,  she  started  up 
with  dilated  eyes.     "  How  is  mother  ?  "  she  cried. 

"She  is  asking  for  you,  —  for  you  and  Michael,"  said 
Mrs.  Garth.  "  But  she  does  not  want  the  others  to  be  dis- 
turbed." 

With  a  sudden,  terrible  realization  of  what  it  all  meant, 
Doreen,  like  one  blind,  groped  her  way  across  the  room  to 
rouse  Michael,  —  no  easy  task.  Then,  together,  they  stole 
into  the  dimly-lighted  room,  awe-stricken  and  trembjing, 
though  there  was  nothing  of  what  they  had  expected,  —  no 
painful  struggle,  no  effort  to  say  last  words,  no  anxiety  for 
the  children  she  was  leaving,  —  nothing  but  a  tender  em- 
brace and  a  murmured  blessing,  then  a  peaceful  sliding 
away  into  unconsciousness. 

And  even  in  the  midst  of  her  bitter  sorrow  Doreen  was 
comforted  to  think  that  this  was  the  sort  of  death  her 
mother  had  always  hoped  for,  an  undisturbed  death,  with 
neither  doctor  nor  clergyman,  nor  professional  nurse,  nor 
many  friends  standing  by ;  but  with  the  bustle  of  the  work- 
ing-day ended,  and  with  the  darkness  revealing  the  presence 
of  other  worlds. 

It  was  not  until  her  aunt  had  left  her,  and  until  she  had 
soothed  Michael  and  settled  him  off  to  sleep  again,  that  she 
altogether  gave  way.  But  as  she  once  more  lay  down  be- 
tween the  two  youngest  children,  the  sight  of  the  little 
unconscious  sisters  to  whom  she  had  to  play  the  part  of 
second  mother  utterly  overcame  her.  She  buried  her  face 
in  the  pillow  and  wept  as  though  her  heart  would  break. 

"  I  shall  never,  never  be  able  to  do  it,"  she  sobbed,  "  And 
they  are  too  young  to  remember ! " 

How  she  lived  through  the  days  that  followed,  Doreen 
never  quite  knew,  but  probably  the  haunting  consciousness 
of  their  poverty,  and  the  urgent  need  that  she  should  have 
all  her  wits  about  her,  kept  her  from  breaking  down  under 
the  double  shock  she  had  undergone.  People  must  either 
use  their  sorrows  as  stepping-stones,  or  be  crushed  beneath 


64  DOREEN 

the  weight  of  them.  Doreen  belonged  to  the  climbers ;  a 
difficulty  stimulated  her  and  called  out  all  that  was  best  in 
her  nature. 

The  very  first  sight  of  her  raised  Uncle  Garth's  spirits, 
when,  on  Saturday,  he  arrived,  much  perturbed  to  think 
of  the  responsibility  that  had  been  cast  upon  him  by  the 
death  of  his  sister-in-law,  and  wholly  at  a  loss  to  know  how 
to  dispose  of  her  five  children,  who  were  so  much  less  easy 
and  pleasant  to  deal  with  than  his  beloved  mummies. 
Uncle  Garth  did  not  like  responsibility ;  he  was  ready  to 
sacrifice  anything  except  his  peace  of  mind,  but  he  guarded 
that  jealously ;  the  children  might  if  they  pleased  look  to 
him  for  food  or  clothing,  but  to  spend  his  time  about  their 
affairs,  to  be  expected  to  start  the  boys  in  life,  to  take,  in 
any  sense,  the  position  of  a  father  towards  them,  was  quite 
another  matter.  He  felt  unequal  to  such  a  task ;  it  had 
been  difficult  enough  in  the  case  of  his  own  two  sons,  and 
having  just  started  them  in  life,  —  the  one  in  Canada,  the 
other  in  India,  —  and  experienced  the  blissful  relief  of  hav- 
ing such  cares  and  anxieties  at  an  end,  he  was  not  at  all 
inclined  to  embark  upon  a  whole  family  of  Irish  orphans, 
who,  as  he  reflected  with  some  irritation,  need  never  have 
been  orphans  at  all,  had  it  not  been  for  the  headstrong  folly 
—  miscalled  patriotism  —  of  their  unfortunate  father. 

It  was  a  shock,  certainly,  to  a  man  of  his  secluded  habits, 
to  be  shown  into  a  room  where  children  seemed  to  abound 
in  so  strange  a  way;  but  Doreen,  quickly  guessing  that 
their  presence  would  fatigue  him,  sent  Dermot  and  Mollie 
away  under  Michael's  care  directly  the  greetings  were  over, 
marshalling  her  little  flock  so  quietly,  and  taking  such  pains 
to  make  the  newcomer  comfortable,  that  Uncle  Garth  at 
once  realized  that  he  had  to  do  with  a  woman,  not  with  a 
mere  school-girl,  as  he  had  anticipated.  Even  her  slight 
Irish  accent  did  not  annoy  him,  and  he  watched  with  a 
vague  admiration  the  understanding  way  in  which  she 
handled  the  baby,  —  for  a  baby  had  always  been  to  him  a 
f ^sirf ul  and  wonderful  thing,  "  not  b^  an^  to  be  enterprised 


DOREEN  65 

nor  taken  in  hand  unadvisedly."  Bride,  to  be  sure,  was  a 
plump  and  comfortable-looking  infant,  but  he  preferred  to 
regard  her  from  a  distance. 

"  We  have  been  talking,  dear,  about  the  future,"  began 
Mi-s.  Garth  quietly.  "  Doreen  has  had  a  very  kind  letter 
this  morning  from  one  of  her  father's  friends,  offering  to 
make  a  home  for  them  in  Ireland ;  but  as  it  is  necessary 
for  her  to  be  in  London,  if  she  is  to  become  a  public  singer, 
we  think  the  offer  had  better  be  refused." 

"  A  singer  ?  "  said  Uncle  Garth.  "  Ah,  yes,  I  remember 
hearing  something  to  that  effect." 

"  I  have  had  a  thoroughly  good  training  in  New  York," 
said  Doreen,  "  and  have  brought  over  a  letter  of  introduc- 
tion from  my  old  maestro,  which  will,  I  hope,  help  me  in 
getting  engagements.  But  he  advises  me  to  have  a  course 
of  lessons  in  oratorio  singing  from  Eathenow,  and  that  will, 
of  course,  be  an  expense.  When  everything  is  paid  for 
here,  I  shall  have  scarcely  anything  in  hand ;  and  though 
Donal  Moore  will  sell  out  the  money  that  father  had  in  the 
London  and  North  Western,  it  will  not  realize  more  than 
four  hundred  pounds,  mother  thought.  We  must  live  upon 
that  until  I  begin  to  earn  money,  and  perhaps  you  would  be 
willing  to  lend  us  some  if  my  engagements  do  not  at  first 
come  in  very  quickly.  I  am  afraid  all  artistes  have  a  hard 
struggle  at  first." 

She  sighed  a  little,  with  the  impatience  of  one  who  feels 
a  great  power  within  himself  doomed  for  a  time  at  any  rate 
to  inaction. 

"I  shall  most  willingly  help  you,  my  dear,  as  far  as 
money  can  help,"  said  Uncle  Garth.  "  But  I  should  fancy 
the  life  of  a  professional  singer  is  full  of  difficulty,  and 
where  one  succeeds  hundreds  are  fated  to  fail." 

But  Doreen  was  not  to  be  daunted  by  this  somewhat 
damping  speech.  "I  must  sing,"  she  said  simply.  "I 
have  intended  to  be  a  singer  ever  since  I  was  ten  years 
old." 

"My  dear,  many  people  form  wishes  early  in  life  which 


66  DOREEN 

liave,  nevertheless,  to  be  abandoned,"  said  Uncle  Garth. 
"  Both  of  my  boys  vowed  they  would  go  to  sea,  but  here  is 
one  of  them  farming  in  Canada,  and  the  other  in  the  Indian 
Civil  Service,  and  happy  enough  in  their  work,  —  happy 
enough." 

"  Yes,  perhaps,"  said  Doreen,  smiling  ever  so  little.  "  But 
I  am  going  to  be  a  singer." 

Her  resolute  voice  made  further  argument  impossible ;  and, 
fearing  that  she  had  spoken  too  vehemently,  she  added :  — 

"  As  to  this  offer  of  a  home  in  Ireland,  why,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  accept  it;  for  Donal  is  a  great  deal  too  poor,  and  we 
have  no  real  claim  upon  him.  It  is  just  his  good-hearted- 
ness ;  he  would  give  away  the  very  clothes  from  his  back 
if  they  would  lit  us !  Donal  Moore  is  a  sort  of  primitive 
Christian,  born  by  mistake  in  the  nineteenth  century,  and 
awfully  puzzled  to  find  that  orthodox  people  don't  under- 
stand his  notions  of  sharing." 

"Donal  Moore,  did  you  Say!"  exclaimed  Uncle  Garth. 
"  You  don't  mean  Donal  Moore  the  Nationalist  ?  '^ 

"  Sure,  then,  but  I  do,"  said  Doreen,  instantly  becoming 
a  little  more  Irish  in  accent.  "  Donal  is  the  kindest  man 
alive ;  he  lived  for  a  whole  year  with  us  in  America,  and 
the  boys  just  worship  him.  He  is  but  lately  married  and 
settled  in  Dublin,  and  it  would  not  be  fair  for  us  to  take 
him  at  his  word  and  quarter  ourselves  upon  him.  If  you 
knew  how  full  of  suffering  his  life  has  been,  and  of  all  that 
he  went  through  in  prison,  you  would  understand  just  how 
I  feel  about  it." 

"  I  quite  think,"  said  Uncle  Garth  hastily,  "  that  it  would 
be  a  most  undesirable  arrangement,  and  I  hope,  my  dear, 
you  will  come  to  us.  Now  that  my  sons  have  left  home, 
there  is  plenty  of  room,  and  I  am  sure  it  is  the  arrange- 
ment that  your  poor  mother  would  have  desired." 

"  We  spoke  of  it  together,"  said  Aunt  Garth,  in  her  quiet 
voice;  "and  it  seemed  to  set  her  mind  quite  at  rest. 
Doreen  need  not  feel  that  she  is  thrusting  a  burden  upon 
you ;  when  her  reputation  is  made,  she  will  be  able  to  repay 


DOREEN^  (ft 

anythinfj  that  you  advance  for  the  children ;  in  accepting 
tills  oii'er  slie  will  in  no  way  sacrifice  her  independence." 

'*  It  was  not  so  much  of  the  money  that  I  was  thinking, 
auntie,  —  that,  of  course,  I  could  repay,  —  but  it  is  the 
trouble  to  you  and  the  change  in  your  household,  and  all 
the  coming  and  going  and  bustle  that  it  must  involve. 
They  are  good  children;  but  of  course  where  there  are 
children  there"  is  bound  to  be  noise,  to  say  nothing  of  all  my 
practising,  which  will,  I  am  afraid,  be  tiresome  for  you." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Garth,  "  has  it  never  struck  you 
that  a  house  may  be  too  quiet  ?  " 

And  as  she  took  her  niece's  hand  in  hers,  Doreen  guessed 
by  the  little  tremor  which  she  felt  in  it,  that  Aunt  Garth 
was  fretting  sorely  for  the  two  sons  who  were  supposed  to 
be  so  happily  settled  abroad.  Her  heart  went  out  to  the 
patient,  uncomplaining,  reserved  woman ;  it  would  be  easy 
to  respect  Uncle  Garth,  to  be  very  grateful  to  him  for  his 
kindness,  and  to  put  up  with  his  hundred  and  one  crotchets, 
but  already  she  had  learned  to  love  her  aunt,  and  to  feel 
that  she  belonged  to  her. 

"You  must  let  me  know,"  said  Uncle  Garth,  "of  any 
expenses  that  you  are  unable  to  meet  here ;  there  will  be, 
of  course,  the  mourning  for  yourself  and  the  children :  that 
alone  will  be  a  heavy  tax  on  your  purse." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Doreen.  "  But  I  do  not  mean  to  wear 
black  or  to  put  the  children  into  it.  I  am  sure  my  father 
and  mother  would  rather  we  did  not  run  into  debt.  And 
what  do  we  want  to  be  thinking  of  dressmakers  and  mil-* 
liners  at  such  a  time  as  this  ?  " 

"I  am  afraid  people  may  misunderstand  you,"  said  her 
uncle  hesitatingly.     "  You  see  it  is  the  custom." 

"  Yes ;  but  a  heathenish  custom,  to  my  mind,"  said  Doreen. 
♦*If  for  protection  it  is  necessary  to  have  some  badge  of 
grief,  why,  a  black  rosette  fastened  to  one's  jacket  would 
answer  the  purpose  quite  as  well." 

"One  would  shrink  from  the  talk  it  would  inevitably 
make,"  said  Uncle  Garth. 

f2 


68  DOREEN- 

"Yes,"  said  Doreen  wearily.  "But  some  one  must  go 
first  in  every  reform." 

Her  mind  was  so  evidently  made  up  that  he  ventured  no 
more  remonstrances,  though  in  his  secret  soul  he  hankered 
sorely  after  an  entirely  proper  equipment,  with  the  orthodox 
depth  of  crape,  the  black  veils,  the  black-bordered  handker- 
chiefs, and  the  black  kid  gloves. 

"The  poor  child  is  evidently  born  with  revolutionary 
tendencies,"  he  thought  to  himself.  "  It's  a  sad  inheritance  ! 
—  a  sad  inheritance  ! " 

Spite  of  it  all,  however,  there  was  something  in  Doreen 
that  he  cordially  liked  and  respected.  The  quiet  courage 
with  which  she  bore  up  in  this  time  of  grief  and  over- 
whelming sorrow,  the  buoyant  hopefulness  with  which  she 
faced  her  future,  most  of  all,  perhaps,  her  devotion  to  her 
little  brothers  and  sisters,  impressed  the  Egyptologist  not 
a  little.  For  her  sake  he  made  heroic  efforts  to  hide  the 
disgust  he  felt  at  the  prospect  of  having  to  meet  Donal 
Moore,  the  Nationalist,  and  on  the  Sunday  morning  spent 
a  considerable  time  in  debating  how  he  could  best  combine 
courtesy  to  the  man  with  a  certain  unresponsive  stiffness 
which  should  betoken  loathing  of  his  principles.  It  was, 
after  all,  natural  enough  that  Patrick  O'K-yan's  old  friend 
and  executor  should  run  over  from  Dublin  to  the  funeral ; 
his  kindly  offer  to  the  children  must  also  be  borne  in  mind, 
and  severity  must  be  tempered  with  all  due  hospitality. 
The  Irishman  must,  however,  be  made  to  feel  that  though 
with  them,  he  was  not  of  them. 

With  these  thoughts  in  his  mind.  Uncle  Garth  returned 
from  his  Sunday  morning  walk  and  entered  the  sitting- 
room;  Doreen,  with  her  white  face  looking  a  degree  less 
sad  than  he  had  yet  seen  it,  sat  on  a  low  stool  warming  her 
hands  at  the  fire.  Opposite  her,  in  the  depths  of  a  big  arm- 
chair, with  Michael  on  one  side  and  Dermot  on  the  other, 
and  with  little  Mollie  perched  on  his  knee,  sat  a  fair- 
skinned,  broad-browed  man,  whose  kindly  blue  eyes  and 
peculiarly  gentle  face  looked  too  young  for  his  grizzled 
hair. 


DOREEN'  69 

"Mr.  Moore  has  just  come,  uncle,"  said  Doreen;  and 
Uncle  Garth,  with  a  murmured  greeting,  put  a  limp  hand 
into  the  hand  of  the  ticket-of-leave  man,  permitting  him  to 
shake  it  or  not,  as  he  pleased.  Donal  Moore,  who  never 
did  things  by  halves,  gave  it  a  hearty  grip,  just  as  though 
they  had  been  the  warmest  friends ;  and,  in  truth,  he  was 
thinking  that  he  liked  the  look  of  Mr.  Garth,  and  felt  sure 
that  the  children  were  in  good  hands.  He  was  not  a  self- 
conscious  person,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  him  tliat  the  Eng- 
lishman was  at  that  moment  thinking,  "So,  this  is  the 
notorious  ex-Fenian !     This  the  ardent  Home  Kuler ! " 

In  spite  of  his  prejudices,  Uncle  Garth  was  obliged  to 
own  that  there  was  something  singularly  attractive  about 
the  newcomer.  Years  of  suffering  and  imprisonment  had, 
strangely  enough,  only  elevated  Donal  Moore's  noble  nature. 
Forced  into  gaol  amongst  criminals  of  the  lowest  type  and 
treated  with  greater  severity  than  the  vilest  murderer,  this 
man  had  somehow  managed  to  retain  his  faith  in  human 
nature,  and  he  had  come  out  into  the  world  again  full  of 
eager  plans  for  coping  with  the  evils  which  tend  to  produce 
criminals. 

"Evidently  he  might  have  been  a  most  useful  member 
of  society,"  reflected  Uncle  Garth  regretfully,  "had  he 
not  had  the  misfortune  to  be  born  in  Ireland.  Strange, 
that  so  thoughtful  and  sensible  a  man  can  yet  be  such  a 
fool  as  to  throw  away  the  best  years  of  his  life  on  a  mere 
visionary  idea,  a  hare-brained  scheme  for  recovering  the 
land  for  the  people." 

Donal  Moore,  in  the  mean  time,  had  somehow  managed 
to  discover  Uncle  Garth's  hobby,  and  as  they  sat  down  to 
luncheon  he  skilfully  drew  the  Egyptologist  towards  the 
subject  that  he  loved;  being  resolved  to  help  Doreen 
as  much  as  possible,  and  guessing  well  enough  how  sore 
a  heart  lay  beneath  her  quiet  manner.  She  looked  as 
though  all  the  sparkling,  radiant,  joyous  nature  had  been 
crushed  out  of  her.  He  wondered  whether  she  could  ever 
again  be  the  same  light-hearted  girl  whose  rippling  laughter 


70  DOREEiV 

and  merry  talk  had  been  wont  to  keep  the  whole  household 
gay  in  New  York. 

It  was  not  until  they  were  actually  driving  to  the  ceme- 
tery that  he  had  any  chance  of  talking  to  her  alone,  and 
then,  strangely  enough,  the  least  flicker  of  amusement 
passed  over  her  face  as  the  door  was  closed  upon  them. 

"  Uncle  Garth  will  think  me  more  unorthodox  than  ever," 
she  said,  "for  arranging  to  come  in  the  second  carriage 
with  you.  But  by  this  time  you  have  exhausted  Egypt, 
and  who  knows  what  unlucky  topic  he  might  have  chanced 
upon.  It  is  very  good  of  you,  Donal,  to  come  to  us  in  our 
trouble.  It  does  make  such  a  difference  to  have  you.  Have 
you  ever  been  to  a  Protestant  funeral  before  ?  " 

"  Only  once,"  he  replied ;  "  and  that  was  during  my  sixth 
year  in  Dartmoor  Prison.  Park,  the  well-known  burglar 
died,  and  I  was  one  of  the  prisoners  told  off  to  dig  his  grave 
and  to  carry  the  coffin." 

"  How  horrible ! "  said  Doreen  with  a  shudder ;  "  that 
wretch  who  had  robbed  and  wounded  so  many  people ! " 

"  Well,  God  rest  his  soul,"  said  Donal ;  "  he  was  about 
as  bad  a  man  as  could  well  be,  but  then  you  must  remember 
he  had  been  bred  up  in  a  sort  of  Fagin's  school  of  crime. 
And  as  for  the  task  of  digging  his  grave,  why,  that  is  a 
piece  of  work  most  eagerly  coveted  by  all  convicts,  for  the 
vicar  of  Princetown  has  a  kindly  practice  of  giving  the  pris- 
oners something  to  eat  when  their  task  is  over ;  and  I  well 
remember,  that  bitter,  cold  day,  what  it  was  to  get  the  rare 
treat  of  a  good  cup  of  tea  and  a  decent  slice  of  bread  and 
meat  after  all  those  years  of  prison  fare.  There  was  a 
pretty  little  child  who  came  out  to  look  at  us  when  the 
servant  brought  us  the  food,  and  a  hideous  lot  we  must 
have  been  in  our  convict  garb,  with  our  faces  blue  with  the 
cold,  and  the  damp,  churchyard  earth  still  clinging  about  us. 

"  ^  Why  have  they  dug  that  hole  ? '  asked  the  child. 

" '  Well,'  said  the  servant,  ^  one  of  the  prisoners  is  dead, 
my  dear.' 

"  ^  Dead ! '  said  the  child.    *  Why,  then  he'll  be  going  up 


DOREEN  11 

to  heaven,  you  know ;  oh,  do  let  me  stay  and  see  him  go 
up.'  And  she  looked  at  the  sky,  as  if  she  fully  expected 
to  see  it  opening  in  preparation." 

"  It  makes  my  blood  boil,  when  I  think  of  you  in  that 
horrible  prison,"  said  Doreen.  "Oh,  Donal !  just  think 
how  different  things  might  have  been,  if  England  had  but 
shown  us  justice !  When  one  looks  at  those  smug,  comforta- 
ble people,  walking  along  so  unconcernedly,  it  is  hard 
not  to  grow  bitter.  It  was  the  prison  life  that  killed  my 
father,  and  it  was  the  shock  of  his  death  that  killed  my 
mother." 

"Don't  think  of  what  might  have  been,"  said  Donal 
Moore  quietly.  "  Think  of  what  may  be,  what  assuredly 
will  be  won  by  the  sufferings  of  all  the  thousands  of  Irish 
patriots.  Do  you  think  because  people  forget  them  that 
God  forgets?" 

"  No,"  said  Doreen,  sighing.  "  I  believe  it  all,  and  yet 
this  apparent  waste  of  so  much  sacrifice  and  devotion  some- 
times seems  unendurable.  If  one  could  see  the  least  reason 
or  purpose  in  this  long  delay  of  justice,  it  would  be  less 
hard  to  bear.  I  am  like  the  little  child  in  the  Princetown 
churchyard,  and  want  to  see  the  heavens  opened,  and  know 
the  *  Why '  of  everything." 

Donal  Moore  was  silent ;  he  thought  sadly  of  the  family 
whose  warm  welcome  to  him  in  America  had  made  so 
delicious  a  contrast  with  his  dreary  years  of  imprison- 
ment ;  and  that  saddest  thought  of  "  Sweet  households 
overthrown,"  carried  him  back  to  his  own  childhood,  and  to 
the  remembrance  of  an  eviction  which  had  ruined  his 
parents,  and  brought  them  all  to  the  verge  of  starvation. 

"  Doreen,"  he  said,  in  his  simple,  kindly  fashion,  taking 
the  girl's  hand  in  his,  "many's  the  time  that  I  have  grown 
bitter  and  wrathful,  thinking  over  the  wrongs  and  cruelties 
of  the  past.  And  then  there  comes  to  my  mind  the  saying 
of  a  good  old  priest,  —  'twas  Father  Flynn,  whom  you'll 
have  heard  your  father  speak  of ;  —  and  when  I  told  him  of 
the  blind  rage  and  the  vindictive  hatred  that   seized   me 


72  DOREEJ^ 

when  I  remembered  certain  scenes,  he  said  to  me:  ^Bonal, 
you  were  made  to  play  a  better  part  than  that  of  cat's-paw 
to  the  devil.  It's  a  good  knight  of  Christ's  that  you're 
called  to  be,  and  this  memory  of  the  injustice  is  to  spur 
you  on  to  help  your  suffering  countrymen.' '' 

"I  should  like  this  grief  to  spur  me  on  to  help,"  said 
Doreen.  "  But  the  sight  of  comfortable,  ignorant,  callous 
indifference,  like  Uncle  Garth's,  just  maddens  me.  I  know 
I  will  begin  to  hate  the  English,  now  that  my  mother  is  no 
longer  here  to  keep  me  gentle-hearted." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Donal  Moore ;  "  haters  can't  be  helpers. 
We  shall  hinder  our  cause  if  we  fight  with  the  devil's 
weapons.  I  am  no  longer  a  believer  in  physical  force,  but 
in  moral  compulsion.  And  you,  —  why  there  is  a  great 
career  before  you !  Your  voice  ought  to  do  much  for  Ire- 
land." 

And  so  with  kindly  words  of  good  cheer,  and  even  more 
by  the  perception  that  came  to  her  of  her  companion's  noble 
character,  Doreen  was  helped  through  that  long  drive  to 
Sefton  Park  cemetery.  The  sting  of  her  sorrow  seemed 
gone ;  she  was  able  to  look  at  the  future  with  Donal  Moore's 
eyes,  and  through  all  the  grievous  pain  of  the  next  half- 
hour  she  felt  the  strong  support  of  his  presence. 

The  ticket-of-leave  man,  the  ardent  reformer  and  agitator, 
was  somehow  the  only  man  living  who  could  have  made 
that  funeral  service  anything  but  a  time  of  torture  to  her. 
But  as  she  stood  with  Michael's  hand  in  hers,  at  the  foot  of 
the  open  grave,  she  looked  not  down  into  the  dreary  depth 
at  the  coffin  lid,  but  up  to  where  Donal  Moore  stood  at  the 
further  side,  his  grizzled  head  uncovered,  his  strong,  gentle 
face  outlined  against  the  pale  blue  of  the  wintry  sky ;  and 
she  saw  how  his  sufferings  had  helped,  and  for  a  moment 
she  had  her  wish,  —  heaven  was  opened. 

The  fresh  west  wind  blew  upon  her  face ;  it  seemed  to 
brace  her,  to  fill  her  with  new  life.  Her  spirit  rose  up 
bravely  to  meet  the  future.  When  the  grace  had  been 
spoken,  she  turned  promptly  away,  and,  with  her  face  lighted 


DOREEN  73 

up  by  tliat  wonderful  spiritual  beauty  which  now  and  then 
startles  the  dwellers  upon  this  earth,  she  slipped  her  free 
hand  into  her  aunt's.  Together  they  walked  slowly  back 
to  tlie  gate,  while  Donal  Moore  and  Uncle  Garth  followed 
behind. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"December  days  were. brief  and  chill ; 

The  winds  of  March  were  wild  and  drear ; 
And,  nearing  and  recedmg  still, 

Spring  never  would,  we  thought,  be  here. 
The  leaves  that  burst,  the  suns  that  shine, 

Had,  not  the  less,  their  certain  date :  — 
And  thou,  O  human  heart  of  mine. 

Be  still ;  refrain  thyself,  and  wait." 


Clough. 


Rathenow,  the  celebrated  singing-master,  was  at  first 
almost  as  depressing  as  Uncle  Garth  himself. 

"  The  market  is  sadly  over-crowded,"  he  said,  when  at  her 
first  lesson  Doreen  showed  him  the  letter  of  introduction 
from  her  old  maestro  in  America.  "You  had  better  em- 
ploy an  agent,  but  you  must  not  be  over-sanguine." 

"  Which  agent  do  you  advise  me  to  try  ?  "  said  Doreen, 
her  heart  sinking  a  little. 

*'  I  should  advise  you  to  go  to  Freen,  in  New  Bond  Street, 
and  have  your  name  put  down  in  his  oflB.ce ;  then,  if  any- 
thing turns  up,  he  will  let  you  know."  As  he  spoke,  he 
opened  the  copy  of  the  "Elijah"  which  Doreen  had  brought, 
and  began  half  dreamily  to  play  the  beautiful  little  frag- 
ment of  chorus,  "Open  the  heavens  and  send  us  relief: 
help  thy  servant  now,  0  God!"  Then,  to  her  dismay, 
he  turned  the  leaf  and,  playing  the  few  bars  of  Elijah's 
part,  bade  her  take  the  trying  bit  of  recitative  sung  by  the 
Youth  —  quite  the  last  thing  she  would  have  chosen  to 
be^n  with-     However,  Do^en  had  happily  grown  up  with 

74 


DOREEN-  75 

an  innate  tendency  to  grasp  her  bull  by  the  horns.  She 
conquered  her  nervousness,  and  her  voice  rang  out  gloriously 
toward  the  end  of  the  brief  dialogue.  A  curious  change 
came  over  Rathenow's  dark  features.  "  You  will  succeed," 
he  said  quietly,  glancing  up  at  the  girl's  eager  face.  And 
then  for  the  rest  of  the  lesson  he  made  her  work  hard  at 
"  Hear  ye,  Israel,"  bestowing  no  single  word  of  praise,  but 
parting  with  her  at  the  end  with  a  smile  benignant  enough 
to  send  her  away  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  happiness. 
Sorrow  and  loneliness  and  anxiety  were  for  a  time  non- 
existent ;  as  if  treading  on  air,  she  hurried  away  to  New 
Bond  Street,  Mendelssohn's  perfect  music  still  ringing  in 
her  ears,  and  the  exultant  sense  of  the  good  gift  that  had 
been  bestowed  on  her  filling  her  with  an  exquisite  happiness. 

The  agent  was  civil,  business-like,  and  brisk ;  he  might 
have  been  a  clerk  in  a  counting-house ;  there  was  nothing 
artistic  about  him ;  he  seemed  a  combination  of  all  those 
virtues  of  punctuality,  despatch,  appreciation  of  the  worth 
of  money,  and  capacity  for  bargaining  in  which  artistes  of 
all  kinds  are  generally  lacking.  Though  managing  the 
affairs  of  most  of  the  greatest  singers  of  the  day,  Mr.  Freen 
frankly  owmed  that  he  was  not  musical.  He  was  ready 
enough  to  admit  a  pupil  of  Rathenow's  upon  his  books,  and 
to  accept  the  verdict  of  the  American  maestro  as  to  her 
powers;  but  he  himself  could  only  judge  that  she  was  a 
blue-eyed  Irish  girl,  winsome  and  attractive,  without  being 
strictly  pretty,  and  with  that  terrible  eagerness  for  work 
which  distinguished  almost  all  the  younger  portion  of  his 
visitors. 

The  next  time  Doreen  visited  the  office,  however,  her  face 
was  less  bright ;  no  engagement  had  turned  up.  She  went 
sorrowfully  away,  to  wait  as  patiently  as  might  be  for  that 
work  which  she  so  sorely  needed.  But  the  days  passed 
into  weeks,  the  weeks  into  months,  and  still  Freen  found 
nothing  for  her.  When  she  had  finished  her  course  of 
twelve  lessons  she  told  Rathejiow  that  she  could  at  present 
afford  ao  more. 


76  DOREEAT 

"As  to  engagements,  I  begin  to  despair  of  them,"  she 
said,  with  a  sound  as  of  repressed  tears  in  her  voice,  which 
made  her  teacher  glance  at  her  keenly. 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  be  impatient,"  he  said.  "  A  year  of 
waiting  and  practising  will  do  you  no  harm  at  all.  You  are 
young  and  can  afford  to  wait." 

"  But  that  is  just  what  I  cannot  do,"  said  Doreen.  "  How 
is  it  possible  to  afford  a  year's  delay  when  I  have  myself 
and  four  children  to  support?  We  are  orphans,  and  I, 
being  far  older  than  the  rest,  must,  somehow,  make  enough 
to  keep  them." 

"  I  have  heard  it  rumoured  that  Madame  De  Berg  is  going 
next  autumn  to  America,  and  if  so,  that  will  be  very  much 
in  your  favour.  I  think  there  would  be  some  likelihood 
that  Boniface  might  engage  you  for  his  series  of  concerts 
during  her  absence.  I  will  mention  your  name  to  him. 
For  the  present,  however,  there  is  nothing  for  it  but 
patience." 

Unfortunately,  patient  perseverance  in  waiting  was  pre- 
cisely the  most  difficult  thing  in  the  world  to  the  girl's 
Keltic  nature,  and  at  this  part  of  her  life  she  was  intensely 
lonely.  Aunt  Garth,  though  extremely  kind,  was  too 
reserved  to  be  quickly  known,  and  far  too  quiet  and  seK- 
contained  to  understand  Doreen's  more  stormy  tempera- 
ment. Uncle  Garth  seemed  to  her  overwrought  and  severely 
taxed  brain  the  most  intolerable  combination  of  dulness  and 
fussiness.  The  silence  and  the  lack  of  mirth  and  light- 
heartedness  in  the  Bloomsbury  household  weighed  upon  her 
like  a  pall;  and  the  extraordinary  contrast  between  this 
death  in  life  and  the  scrambling,  merry,  happy-go-lucky 
home  in  America  was  too  great  to  be  wholesome.  There 
was  nothing  to  divert  her  attention  from  her  sad  memories, 
and  her  great  anxiety  as  to  the  future ;  for  Uncle  Garth, 
like  many  antiquarians,  was  also  a  recluse.  He  found  his 
friends  in  the  strange  hieroglyphic  records  of  the  past,  and 
hated  any  interruptions,  so  that  of  society  there  was  abso- 
lutely none  in  the  Bernard  Street  home, 


DOREEN  77 

"Instead,"  wrote  Doreen  to  Donal  Moore,  "of  the  per- 
petual coming  and  going  of  my  father's  friends,  and  of  all 
the  mirth  that  even  in  spite  of  trouble  was  seldom  absent 
for  long,  we  live  through  dreary,  silent  days.  Aunt  Garth 
is  a  great  reader,  and  has  learnt  to  make  books  her  friends, 
and  Uncle  Garth  has  his  mummies  and  things,  and  once  or 
twice  two  old  fossils  have  dined  with  us,  but  they  could 
talk  of  nothing  but  Egyptology ;  otherwise  he  wouldn't  have 
asked  them,  for  he  cares  for  nothing  more  modern  than 
Moses." 

When  she  had  written  this  her  conscience  began  to  prick 
her,  and  she  reflected  that  her  unmethodical  ways  must  be 
extremely  trying  to  the  Egyptologist,  and  that  a  girl  who 
sang  as  she  ran  up  and  downstairs  and  who  had  a  fatal  readi- 
ness to  chatter  upon  the  smallest  provocation,  who  laughed 
when  she  should  have  merely  smiled,  and  wholly  declined 
to  take  Uncle  Garth's  decisions  as  being  unquestionably 
right,  must  be  a  very  disturbing  element.  Happily,  they 
had  two  bonds  of  union :  one  was  their  mutual  devotion  to 
little  Mollie,  whose  sweet,  sunshiny  nature  had  made  her  the 
darling  of  the  whole  house.  The  other  was  Uncle  Garth's 
love  of  ballads.  He  was  not  a  musical  man;  elaborate  music 
was  to  him  a  weariness  of  the  flesh ;  but  Doreen's  beautiful 
rendering  of  her  own  native  songs  and  of  many  of  the  old 
English  ballads  delighted  him,  and  more  than  once  had  lured 
him  from  his  study  to  the  drawing-room,  to  Aunt  Garth's 
surprise  and  satisfaction. 

Then  again,  when  all  four  of  the  children  fell  ill  with  the 
measles.  Uncle  Garth  showed  in  his  best  colours.  He 
never  once  grumbled  at  having  his  house  turned  into  a 
hospital,  but  went  to  and  from  the  Museum  every  morning, 
and  worked  in  his  study  all  the  evening,  just  as  if  nothing 
unusual  had  been  going  on.  Many  men  would  have  mur- 
mured, but  the  Egyptologist  never  made  a  single  complaint, 
and  looked  distinctly  pleased  when  the  invalids  began  to 
come  downstairs.  Perhaps,  in  his  quiet  fashion,  he  had 
missed  them  a  little. 


78  DOREEN 

One  bleak  day  when,  what  with  the  trying  spring  weather, 
the  fatigue  she  had  undergone  during  the  children's  ill- 
ness, the  grief  of  her  bereavement,  and  the  wearing  disap- 
pointment of  each  day  of  expectation,  Doreen  was  feeling 
more  than  usually  depressed,  it  chanced  that  she  had  to 
take  a  note  to  her  uncle  at  the  Museum.  The  sight  of  Mr. 
Garth's  absorbed,  happy  face  awakened  in  her  a  sort  of 
envy.  She  paced  miserably  through  the  long  galleries, 
conscious  of  being  a  mere  unit  in  the  great  realm  of  Art, 
yet  hungering  with  an  indescribable  hunger  to  "  make  good  " 
her  "  standing-place,  and  move  the  world." 

Crossing  the  great  entrance  hall,  she  pushed  open  the 
swing  door  impatiently,  and  made  her  way  past  the  drink- 
ing-fountain  and  the  great  dingy  columns,  pausing  for  a 
moment  at  the  top  of  the  steps  to  watch  the  pigeons  as 
they  swooped  gracefully  down  into  the  gravelled  inclosure. 
Just  then  a  young  man  strode  quickly  up  the  broad  flight. 
Something  in  the  girl's  attitude  and  in  the  outline  of  her  slim 
figure  arrested  his  attention ;  he  glanced  at  the  pale,  wist- 
ful face,  —  surely  he  had  somewhere  before  seen  those 
pathetic  blue  eyes,  and  the  white  skin,  which  contrasted  so 
curiously  with  the  dark  hair  and  humorous-looking  dark 
brows  ? 

Meanwhile,  the  pigeons  flew  off,  and  Doreen,  glancing  at 
the  passer-by,  encountered  his  eyes,  and  instantly  recognized 
Max  Hereford.  Her  whole  face  lighted  up,  —  had  she  not 
been  longing  to  meet  this  sharer  of  her  secret  ever  since 
they  quitted  America  ? 

"  You  will  hardly  remember  me,  Mr.  Hereford,"  she  said, 
greeting  him  warmly ;  "  I  am  Doreen  O'E-yan." 

"I  was  certain  I  knew  your  face,"  he  said,  taking  her 
hand  in  his.     "  It  was  your  height  which  puzzled  me." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  knew  quite  well  you  thought  I  was  still  a 
child,"  said  Doreen,  her  eyes  dancing  with  fun.  "Did  I 
not  have  your  fat  robins  and  your  Father  Christmas  cards 
every  year  ?  Confess  now  that  you  thought  I  was  still  a 
little  girl  with  a  bush  of  hair  and  short  skirts  ?  " 


DOREEN  79 

"I  plead  guilty,"  said  Max,  laughing,  "to  invariably 
picturing  you  in  a  little  red  cloak.  But  tell  me,  are  you 
living  in  London  ?  Has  your  career  begun  ?  and  when  am 
I  to  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  you  sing  at  St.  James' 
Hall?" 

"  Oh,"  said  Doreen,  "  I  begin  to  despair  of  ever  getting  a 
hearing.  I  was  going  to  New  Bond  Street  now  to  see  if  my 
agent  has  heard  of  anything,  but  always  there  is  disap- 
pointment." 

"Will  you  let  me  walk  with  you  there?"  said  Max, 
quickly  falling  back  into  the  frank  and  friendly  tone  of 
intimacy  which  they  had  gained  in  Ireland. 

"It  will  seem  very  natural,"  replied  Doreen,  "to  be 
walking  once  more  with  you,  though  Oxford  Street  is  but 
a  poor  exchange  for  our  mountains  and  valleys.  But  were 
you  not  just  going  to  the  Museum  ?  " 

"  I  can  go  later  on,"  said  Max.  "  I  had  only  to  verify 
one  or  two  quotations  in  the  Reading  Room." 

"  Then  your  career  has  begun  ?  " 

"  Yes,  after  a  fashion.  I  am  chosen  as  the  Liberal  Can- 
didate for  Firdale  at  the  next  election,  and  in  the  mean  time 
am  working  my  own  particular  hobby,  and  speaking  now 
and  then  when  there  is  a  chance." 

"  What  is  your  hobby  ?    What  do  you  speak  about  ?  " 

"  Temperance,"  he  replied. 

"  I  wish  it  were  Ireland,"  said  Doreen. 

"  Well,  that  is  to  come,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  At  least,  I 
hope  so.  You  have  my  promise.  And,  as  to  temperance, 
why,  you  ought  to  be  enthusiastic  about  that,  for  one  of  the 
pioneers  of  the  movement  was  your  fellow-countryman. 
Father  Matthew,  —  the  noblest  worker  the  cause  has  ever 
seen.  How  is  little  Michael,  by  the  bye  ?  I  suppose  he  is 
at  school  now  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  she  replied.  "  I  am  too  poor  to  send  him. 
We  have  been  in  such  great  trouble.  My  father  and  mother 
died  just  after  Christmas,  within  a  few  days  of  each  other, 
and  Michael  and  I  and  the  three  little  ones  whom  you  have 


8o  DOREEN 

not  seen  are  living  with  my  uncle  and  aunt  in  Bernard  Street. 
In  time,  no  doubt,  I  shall  be  able  to  support  and  educate  the 
children,  but  this  dreadful  struggle  for  fame  must  come 
first,  and  it  is  so  hard  to  be  patient." 

Max,  for  whom  such  an  easy  lot  had  been  provided,  felt 
aghast  at  her  description  of  the  plight  in  which  she  had 
been  left. 

"  Have  you  no  friends  to  help  you  ?  "  he  asked,  looking 
at  the  girlish  profile  beside  him,  and  marvelling  how,  with 
such  a  load  of  care,  she  endured  life  at  all. 

"  Oh  yes,"  replied  Doreen  brightly.  "  Not  rich  friends, 
but  very  good  ones.  My  uncle,  Mr.  Garth,  has  a  post  at 
the  British  Museum,  and  the  house  in  Bernard  Street  is  his 
own  property,  so  that  he  can  at  any  rate  put  a  roof  over 
our  heads ;  and  then  there  is  father's  friend  and  executor, 
Donal  Moore,  —  he  would  take  good  care  that  we  did  not 
actually  starve.  And  perhaps  the  greatest  help  of  all  is  a 
most  quaint  American  woman  who  crossed  over  in  the  same 
steamer  with  us.  Her  name  is  Hagar  Muchmore.  She 
grew  so  fond  of  us  all,  and  specially  of  the  baby,  that  when 
my  mother  died  she  offered  to  stay  with  us  for  a  year  with- 
out thinking  of  wages.  I  don't  know  how  the  children 
would  have  fared  without  her." 

The  relief  of  having  a  good  talk  with  any  contemporary 
was  so  great  that  the  walk  from  the  Museum  to  New  Bond 
Street  seemed  far  too  short.  At  the  door  of  Freen's  office 
she  paused  to  take  leave  of  Max,  but  he  was  not  so  easily 
dismissed. 

"  Let  me  at  any  rate  hear  the  result,"  he  pleaded.  "  If 
the  news  is  good,  you  will  want  some  one  to  share  it  with ; 
and  if  bad,  why  then,  perhaps,  all  the  more  you  will  have 
some  use  for  me." 

She  laughed,  and  entered  the  office  with  the  same  eager 
hope  which  had  so  often  been  doomed  to  bitter  disappoint- 
ment. 

*'  I  suppose  you  have  not  heard  of  anything  yet  ?  "  she 
said  wistfully,  to  the  brisk  Mr.  Freen. 


bOREEM  8i 

'^  1  was  just  about  to  write  to  you,"  he  said.  "  It  is  not 
much  of  an  engagement.  You  must  not  raise  your  expecta- 
tions; but  Warren,  the  tenor,  who  is  arranging  the  music 
for  one  of  the  city  dinners  the  day  after  to-morrow,  has 
just  been  in  to  inquire  for  some  one  to  fill  the  place  of  Miss 
Latouche,  who  is  suddenly  indisposed.  The  fee  for  your 
services  would  be  three  guineas.  I  should  advise  you  to 
accept  it." 

"  Why,  yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  Doreen,  smiling.  "  I  would 
sing  in  the  street  if  any  one  promised  me  three  guineas." 

The  agent  smiled. 

"  Oh,  you  will  get  on  ;  you  have  a  career  before  you,  and 
spirit  enough  to  win  through  the  struggle." 

"  So  every  one  tells  me,"  said  Doreen,  with  a  little  sigh. 
"  I  hope  it  is  true.     What  shall  I  have  to  sing  ?  " 

"  The  solo  in  '■  God  save  the  Queen,'  the  soprano  part  in 
the  Grace,  —  here  is  a  copy  which  Mr.  Warren  left  for  you, 
—  and  two  other  songs,  whatever  you  yourself  prefer.  Mr. 
Warren  will  be  here  at  twelve  o'clock  to-morrow  io  hear  you 
sing  through  your  part." 

In  the  highest  spirits  Doreen  quitted  the  office,  and 
Max  Hereford,  by  the  merest  glance  at  her  face,  knew  that 
she  had  heard  of  work. 

"  And  where  are  you  to  make  your  first  appearance  ?  " 
he  inquired,  as  they  walked  back  together  to  Bernard 
Street. 

"You  will  never  guess,"  she  said,  laughing.  "Not  as 
you  predicted,  at  St.  James'  Hall,  before  a  crowded  and  ap- 
preciative gathering,  but  just  to  a  lot  of  city  dignitaries, 
after  they  have  been  feasting  on  turtle  soup." 

"  No  !  "  he  said,  in  deep  disgust.  "  You  surely  are  not 
going  to  do  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  I  am,"  she  said.  "  Who  am  I  to  pick  and 
choose, — I,  who  have  four  children  to  support !  Oh,  I  dare  say 
you  know  a  great  deal  about  temperance,  but  you  know  just 
nothing  at  all  about  poverty.  It  is  a  highly  respectable 
dinner  at  the  Grocer's  Hall,  and  the  great  contralto,  Madame 


82  DOREEN- 

St.  Pierre,  is  the  star  of  the  evening.  I  shall  be  just  a 
nobody  ;  you  seem  to  think  I  am  doing  them  an  honour  in 
going  at  all ! " 

"  So  you  are,"  he  muttered,  looking  positively  out  of  tem- 
per.    "  I  hope  they  pay  you  well." 

"  Oh,  the  dignitaries  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  music  ; 
all  that  is  managed  by  Mr.  Warren.  I  forget  whether  he  is 
one  of  St.  Paul's  choir  or  Westminster  Abbey ;  it's  one  or 
the  other.  He  will  give  me  three  guineas.  I  am  so  glad 
it  is  guineas,  not  pounds.  The  three  shillings  will  buy  my 
white  gloves,  and  the  sovereigns  can  all  go  bo  the  children. 
Why  do  you  look  so  grave  ?  Are  you  unhappy  to  think  that 
you'll  never  know  the  bliss  of  earning  money  which  you 
really  need  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  grudge  you  to  the  aldermen,"  he  said,  his 
eyes  resting  tenderly  on  her  bright  face,  just  for  a  minute. 

"  For  my  part,  I  think  they  are  a  very  good  old  institu- 
tion," she  said  gaily.  "  And  think  how  inexpressibly  funny 
it  will  be  tQ  sing  the  Grace  when  we  have  had  just  no  dinner 
at  all ! " 

"  You  can  think  of  your  guineas,"  said  Max,  laughing. 
"  What  other  songs  shall  you  sing  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  would  come  home  and  help  me  to  decide," 
said  Doreen.  *^I  should  like  very  much  to  introduce  you  to 
my  aunt." 

Max  was  not  slow  to  avail  himself  of  the  suggestion ;  for 
Doreen  fascinated  him,  and  he  recognized  the  same  curiously 
winsome  nature  that  had  so  greatly  taken  his  fancy  years 
ago.  Since  then,  he  had  been  courted  and  made  much  of 
by  dozens  of  far  prettier,  far  richer,  far  better-dressed  girls, 
but  to  none  of  them  had  his  heart  responded  in  the  same 
way.  Doreen,  with  her  varying  Irish  nature,  now  sad,  now 
gay,  and  invariably  warm-hearted  and  courageous,  fairly 
bewitched  him. 

Mrs.  Garth  seemed  a  little  startled  when  her  niece  ap- 
peared in  the  drawing-room  with  Max  in  attendance ;  how- 
ever, she  quickly  realized  that  to  a  girl  brought  up  in  America 


DOREEN  83 

all  seemed  natural  enough,  and  then,  moreover,  this  handsome 
Mr.  Hereford  was  an  old  friend  and  had  known  her  as  a 
child.  She  had  not  talked  with  him  for  ten  minutes  before 
she  was  fully  satisfied  that  he  was  the  sort  of  a  man  her 
sister  would  have  approved  of.  Together  they  discussed 
the  important  question  of  what  songs  should  be  sung,  and 
Aunt  Garth  having  counselled  something  tolerably  well 
known,  Max  turned  over  the  songs  in  the  portfolio,  till  he 
came  to  Bishop's  "  Tell  me  my  Heart,"  and  protested  that  it 
was  precisely  the  song  to  suit  the  audience,  who  would  be 
sure  to  like  what  they  remembered  in  the  days  of  their  youth. 
He  was  intensely  eager  to  know  how  Doreen's  voice  had 
developed,  and  his  face,  as  she  sang  the  song,  was  a  study. 
Was  it,  Mrs.  Garth  wondered,  merely  admiration  of  her 
singing,  which  brought  the  glow  to  his  cheeks  and  the  light 
to  his  eyes,  or  was  it  some  deeper  feeling?  The  great 
charm  of  Doreen's  voice  lay  in  its  mellow  sweetness ;  she 
had  no  very  great  compass,  but  her  notes  had  that  fresh 
purity  which  one  hears  now  and  then  in  the  voice  of  a  boy, 
while  she  had  gained  from  her  woman's  heritage  of  pain 
and  sorrow  a  depth  of  expression  to  which  no  boy  chorister 
could  possible  attain. 

"  That  is  perfect,"  said  Max,  at  the  close. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  were  going  to  make  the  remark  that 
I  am  weary  of  hearing,"  said  Doreen,  laughing.  "Every 
one  says,  *  Ah,  what  a  great  career  you  have  before  you ! ' 
and  the  wretched  thing  will  not  begin." 

"  It  is  to  begin  the  day  after  to-morrow,"  said  Max ;  "  and 
you  must  certainly  give  them  something  Irish." 

"  The  ^  Minstrel  Boy,'  perhaps,"  she  said.  "  It  ought  to 
be  something  familiar,  —  something  to  which  they  will  wag 
their  feet  in  time,  you  know,  which  is  always  a  soothing 
sensation,  and  conducive  to  applause  at  the  end." 

Mrs.  Garth  left  them  for  a  while,  and  Doreen  eagerly 
availed  herself  of  the  chance  of  asking  a  question  which 
had  just  occurred  to  her. 

"There  is  one  thing  I  have  been  longing  to  know  all 

o2 


84  DOREEN' 

these  years,"  she  said;  "have  you  heard  anything  more 
about  the  search  for  Lord  Byfield's  agent  ?  or  has  it  now 
passed  out  of  memory  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  more  of  it  since  we  left  Ireland/' 
said  Max  ;  "the  affair  caused  great  commotion  just  at  the 
time,  and  every  effort  was  made  to  get  some  clue  to  the 
mystery;  but  it  has  fairly  baffled  them  all." 

"Do  you  remember,"  said  Doreen,  with  a  shudder,  "how 
they  said  his  wife  had  vowed  that  she  would  never  rest 
until  she  had  brought  some  one  to  the  gallows  for  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  poor  creature  ;  I  heard  that  her  grief  had  taken 
the  form  of  a  thirst  for  vengeance,  but  the  secret  has  been 
faithfully  kept,  you  see,  and  she  is  baffled." 

"  What  became  of  Mr,  Desmond  ?  " 

"  I  have  lost  sight  of  him.  He  recovered  from  his  attack 
of  brain  fever,  or  insanity,  —  for  undoubtedly  it  amounted  to 
that,  —  and  while  I  was  at  Oxford  I  saw  him  once  or  twice ; 
then  he  went  abroad,  and  for  the  last  five  years  I  have  been 
unable  to  learn  his  whereabouts." 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Doreen  musingly,  "since  I  have 
grown  older,  I  have  often  thought  it  was  very  wrong  of 
him  to  let  four  people  bind  themselves  by  such  an  oath. 
You  would  never  have  done  such  a  thing,  —  you  would  have 
gone  straight  to  the  nearest  magistrate  and  told  the  whole 
truth ;  that  it  was  just  a  quarrel,  and  that  the  provocation 
had  been  intense ;  and  you  would  have  gone  to  prison  for 
manslaughter,  and  borne  it  all  nobly.  And  then  you  would 
have  come  out  again  stronger  than  ever  to  help  Ireland." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure,"  said  Max ;  "  your  ideal  is  a  high  one. 
I  should  probably  not  have  done  anything  so  heroic.  As 
for  poor  Desmond,  we  must  not  forget  the  state  of  mind  he 
was  in,  —  utterly  bewildered  by  the  shock,  and  incapable  of 
judging.  He  meant  to  shield  my  mother  and  Miriam  from 
discomfort,  and  he  sacrificed  us.  I  have  often  been  miser- 
able enough  at  the  thought  of  what  had  been  forced  upon 
you." 

"  When  I  feel  very  wretched  about  it  all,"  said  Doreen,  "  I 


DOREElsr  %$ 

think  how  it  was  a  little  like  Moses  killing  the  Egyptian 
and  Ijurying  him  in  the  sand.  It  was  the  wrong  way  of  de- 
livering his  countrymen  from  the  oppressors,  and  yet  God 
let  him  afterwards  become  a  true  deliverer.  Perhaps  even 
our  mistakes  will  teach  us." 

"  You  must  have  longed  for  some  one  to  speak  to  about 
it." 

"  Yes ;  I  can't  tell  you  how  terrible  the  craving  was.  The 
worst  of  all  was  just  before  my  father  and  mother  died." 

"  Had  your  father  any  sort  of  guess,  do  you  think,  as  to 
the  affair?" 

"Never,"  she  said.  "Once  he  asked  a  few  questions  as 
to  the  condition  of  the  tenants  on  Lord  Byfield's  estate,  and 
actually  inquired  what  the  missing  agent  was  like.  But 
they  say  every  girl  with  a  secret  becomes  a  good  actress ;  I 
described  that  dreadful  face,  which  you  and  I  shall  always 
be  able  to  see,  and  he  knew  nothing  from  my  look  or  tone 
that  I  did  not  wish  him  to  learn.  I  still  burn  your  little 
lamp,"  she  concluded,  looking  with  a  smile  into  his  face; 
"  nothing  would  induce  me  to  be  without  it ;  it  has  been  my 
good  friend  all  these  years.  The  other  night  when  Brian 
Osmond,  our  young  Irish  doctor,  came  to  see  Mollie,  who 
sleeps  in  my  room,  he  was  quite  taken  with  it,  and  vowed 
that  he  should  get  one  like  it  when  next  he  goes  to  Ireland." 

"  Who  is  Mr.  Osmond  ?  "  asked  Max,  with  an  unreason- 
able pang  of  jealousy.     "  Is  he  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Garth's  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  of  mine ;  that  is,  of  course,  a  new  friend,"  she 
added,  colouring  a  little,  as  she  realized  how  much  more 
Max  Hereford  was  to  her.  "  He  was  very  good  when  the 
children  were  ill,  and  I  like  him ;  but  he  is  rather  too  grave 
and  silent;  I  take  great  pleasure  in  obliging  him  to  laugh." 

"  You  leave  me  jealous,  both  of  doctors  and  aldermen," 
said  Max,  rising  to  take  leave  as  Mrs.  Garth  returned.  "  I 
must  tell  my  mother  that  you  are  in  London,  and  if  you 
will  allow  it,  we  will  come  the  day  after  the  concert  to 
inquire  after  you." 

"I   should   so   much   like   to   show   Mrs.  Hereford  the 


86  DOREEN- 

children,"  said  Doreen ;  ^'  and  Michael  has  never  forgotten 
the  corn-popping  over  the  fire  at  Castle  Karey." 

"But  our  kernels  behaved  badly,  if  I  remember  right," 
said  Max,  taking  a  long  look  into  the  merry  blue  eyes. 

"  Yes ;  it  was  foretold  that  we  should  agree  to  part,"  said 
Doreen,  her  face  assuming  a  comical  expression  of  mock 
gravity.     "  Good-bye." 

^•May  the  aldermen  value  their  privileges,"  said  Max. 
"  I  wish  you  good  luck." 


CHAPTEK  VIII. 

**  Young  hearts  are  free  :  the  selfish  world  it  is 
That  turns  them  miserly  and  cold  as  stone, 
And  makes  them  clutch  their  fingers  on  the  bliss 
Which  but  in  giving  truly  is  their  own :  — 
She  had  no  dreams  of  barter,  asked  not  his, 
But  gave  hers  freely  as  she  would  have  thrown 
A  rose  to  him,  or  as  that  rose  gives  forth 
Its  generous  fragrance,  thoughtless  of  its  worth." 

Lowell. 

Warren  the  tenor  seemed  greatly  pleased  with  the 
substitute  the  agent  had  found  him,  and  Doreen  acquitted 
herself  well,  as  even  the  unmusical  Freen  could  guess.  Her 
eagerness  to  do  everything  in  the  best  possible  way  was 
satisfactory.  "It  was  not  every  one,"  he  reflected,  "who 
took  so  much  pains  for  a  city  dinner." 

"  Come  a  little  early  to-morrow  night,"  he  said,  "  and  we 
will  run  through  the  Grace  and  the  national  anthem  in 
the  artistes'  room  with  the  other  parts.  I  will  ask  Madame 
St.  Pierre  to  be  kind  enough  to  come  a  few  minutes 
beforehand  for  your  sake." 

Doreen  could  talk  of  nothing  else  when  she  got  home, 
and  the  children  shared  in  her  excitement ;  yet  when  the 
day  actu"yyr^  came,  the  poor  girl  felt  sad  enough,  for  the 
craving  former  mother's  presence  returned  with  overwhelm- 
ing force,  reaclkjng  its  height  when  she  unfolded  the  white 
silk  dress,  embroidered  with  shamrocks,  which  had  been 
the  last  work  that  her  mother  had  done  before  leaving  New 
York.     More  than  one  hot  tear  fell  as  she  put  it  on,  and  it 

87 


as  DOREEM 

was  well  that  Dermot  and  Mollie  came  trotting  up  to  beg 
to  be  her  page  and  her  maid ;  for  nothing  but  their  childish 
gaiety  and  their  delight  in  the  new  dress  could  have  cheered 
her.  All  too  soon  Hagar  Muchmore  came  to  carry  them  off 
to  bed. 

"It's  much  too  early,"  protested  Dermot,  prepared  to 
offer  a  stubborn  resistance;  "the  clock  only  stroke  six  just 
now ;  I  heared  it." 

"That's  so,"  said  Hagar,  quietly;  "but  I  guess  you'll 
always  have  to  be  in  bed  early  the  nights  your  sister  sings, 
for  I  must  go  and  take  care  of  her." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Dermot.  "  I  thought  grown-up  people 
took  care  of  their  own  selves,  and  Doreen  is  awfully  old." 

This  set  them  all  laughing,  and  in  her  heart  Doreen 
rather  wondered  how  Mrs.  Muchmore  would  comport  her- 
self in  the  artistes'  room.  Her  presence,  however,  was 
decidedly  comforting,  when,  having  left  the  children  safely 
in  bed,  taken  a  hurried  farewell  of  Aunt  Garth  and  Michael, 
over  their  game  of  draughts,  and  of  Uncle  Garth,  buried 
in  papyrus  documents,  she  stepped  forth  into  the  cold  night, 
and  leaning  back  in  the  cab  saw  the  gas-lit  streets  and  the 
busy  passengers  flitting  past  as  they  rolled  swiftly  away 
to  the  city.  Arrived  at  the  Grocer's  Hall,  she  was  taken  up- 
stairs to  the  room  set  apart  for  the  performers,  and  having 
taken  Warren's  injunction  to  come  early  in  the  most  literal 
sense,  she  waited  through  what  seemed  an  eternity  before 
any  one  else  appeared,  growing  more  and  more  nervous 
every  minute.  At  last  Warren  himself  came  in,  accom- 
panied by  the  pianist,  who  was  introduced  to  her;  then, 
after  an  interval,  a  very  fat,  heavy  bass,  with  an  enormous 
black  beard,  stalked  in  with  his  music  under  his  arm. 
Finally,  with  a  little  bustle  of  arrival,  which  seemed  to 
betoken  her  celebrity,  there  entered  the  great  Madame  St. 
Pierre,  with  her  French  maid  in  attendance.  Warren 
treated  her  with  the  greatest  deference,  while  Doreen, 
feeling  horribly  young  and  inexperienced,  watched  the  great 
lady  as  she  was  divested  of  a  magnificent  plush  cloak,  bor- 


DOREEN  89 

dered  with  the  most  costly  fur,  and  contemplated  with  awe 
the  regal  gown  of  ruby  velvet  and  the  diamonds  that  flashed 
upon  the  ample  white  neck  of  the  great  contralto.  Beside 
such  assured  grandeur,  such  queenly  composure,  she  felt 
like  a  wretched  little  white  ghost;  she  was  conscious,  too, 
of  being  decidedly  hungry  after  her  long  waiting  and  her 
very  frugal  four-o'clock  dinner.  Her  knees  trembled  beneath 
her  when  Warren  said,  "May  I  introduce  Miss  Doreen 
O'Ryan  to  you,  Madame  St.  Pierre,  a  debutante  from 
America,  and  a  pupil  of  Rathenow's." 

Madame  St.  Pierre  gave  her  a  stately,  somewhat  frigid 
greeting,  —  novices  from  America  were  not  popular.  She 
consented,  however,  to  run  through  the  Grace,  and  the 
national  anthem ;  and  at  the  close  there  was  a  distinct 
change  in  her  manner.  "  Oh,  you  will  get  on  very  nicely ; 
you  need  have  no  fear  about  that,"  she  said  good-naturedly. 
"  By  the  bye,  Mr.  Warren,  have  you  heard  anything  about 
Madame  De  Berg's  projected  tour  in  America  ?  I  hope  it  is 
not  true  that  she  intends  to  take  with  her  that  unlucky 
little  violinist,  a  mere  baby  of  seven,  who  ought  to  be  in 
the  nursery." 

"  No ;  her  father  will  not  permit  her  to  appear  as  yet  in 
public,  and  is  taking  her  to  Germany  to  study  there  till  she 
is  ten  or  eleven." 

"  That's  the  most  sensible  thing  Harry  Kingston  ever  did 
in  his  life,"  said  Madame  St.  Pierre,  approvingly.  "It 
went  to  my  heart  to  think  of  that  unfortunate  child  being 
dragged  through  the  United  States  in  the  company  of 
Madame  De  Berg." 

"  She  is  Kingston's  cousin,"  said  the  tenor. 

"  Yes,  and  has  a  most  unlucky  influence  over  him.  It 
will  be  well  for  the  child  if  her  kinswoman's  career  is  over 
before  her  own  begins.  I  should  like  to  have  invited*" Una 
to  play  with  my  own  children,  but  I  assure  you  it  was  out 
of  the  question ;  the  child  is  a  perfect  little  heathen,  and  lies 
as  glibly  as  a  hardened  woman  of  the  world.  It's  easy  to 
see  who  has  had  the  training  of  her." 


90  DOREEN' 

Doreen  listened  to  the  conversation  with  some  interest, 
feeling  not  a  little  compassion  for  the  infant  violinist  who 
was  too  depraved  to  meet  Madame  St.  Pierre's  children ; 
and  while  she  was  still  wondering  what  sort  of  person  this 
Madame  De  Berg  could  be,  the  summons  came  for  the  per- 
formers to  go  down  to  the  banqueting-hall. 

A  brilliant  scene  was  disclosed  as  they  emerged  from  the 
staircase  into  the  gallery  at  one  end  of  the  building ;  down 
below  were  the  gorgeously  decorated  tables,  with  their  lavish 
display  of  flowers  and  rich  plate,  their  tempting  fruit  and 
dainty  sweetmeats  darkly  outlined  by  the  prosperous-look- 
ing diners  in  their  sombre  evening  dress.  At  the  other 
side  of  the  gallery  sat  a  few  magnificently  attired  ladies,  the 
wives  of  the  city  magnates  and  of  the  most  distinguished 
guests  of  the  evening.  And  now  the  dreaded  moment  had 
actually  arrived,  and  above  the  subdued  roar  of  conversation 
rose  the  stentorian  voice  of  the  toast-master  who  stood  behind 
the  chairman. 

"  Gentlemen,  pray  silence  for  Grace ! " 

It  was  a  voice  that  made  one  feel  as  if  the  Day  of  Judg- 
ment had  come. 

Doreen  tried  to  forget  the  great  hall  and  the  glaring 
lights ;  she  thought  of  the  dim  nursery  at  home,  and  of  the 
children  asleep.  She  tried  to  pretend  that  she  was  singing 
in  the  drawing-room  to  Max  Hereford  once  more,  and  her 
voice  rang  out  clearly  as  she  sang :  — 

•'  For  these  and  all  Thy  mercies  given, 
We  bless  and  praise  Thy  name,  O  Lord; 
May  we  receive  them  with  thanksgiving, 
Ever  trusting  in  Thy  word. 
To  Thee  alone  be  honour,  glory, 
Now,  and  from  henceforth  for  evermore.    Amen.    Amen." 

The  ordeal  was  over ;  and  while  the  toast-master  shouted 
out,  "  Gentlemen,  be  pleased  to  fill  your  glasses !  bumpers, 
if  you  please,"  Doreen  was  able  to  sit  down,  and  was  glad 
enough  to  do  so  j  for  the  floor  of  the  gallery  seemed  rocking 


DOREEN  91 

beneath  her.  The  thought  of  her  solo  made  her  shudder, 
and  it  was  not  till  the  whole  assembly  rose  loyally  shouting, 
"  The  Queen  !  The  Queen  ! "  that  she  forgot  her  fears.  But 
when,  as  the  four  performers  stood  up,  a  hush  instantly  fell 
upon  the  great  gathering,  a  sense  of  power  and  of  keen 
delight  in  the  power  came  to  her.  The  pianist  led  off,  and 
the  first  verse  of  the  national  anthem  was  sung  as  a  quar- 
tette. Then  Doreen's  fresh  young  voice  rang  through  the 
building,  and  she  first  realized  what  it  meant  to  rouse  and 
stir  an  audience.     In  her  rendering  of  the  verse 

"Thy  choicest  gifts  in  store," 

there  was  such  ardour,  such  contagious  enthusiasm,  that 
not  only  the  professional  singers,  but  the  whole  assembly 
joined  in  the  chorus,  —  joined  not  formally  or  frigidly,  but 
with  purpose  and  intention. 

"I  call  that  pretty  good  for  a  Fenian's  daughter,"  ob- 
served the  fat  bass  to  Warren,  as  the  singers  left  the  ban- 
queting-hall  for  a  time. 

His  voice  had  been  insufficiently  lowered,  and  Doreen, 
mio  was  a  little  in  advance,  turned  to  confront  him. 

"  I  am  a  Home-Ruler,"  she  said,  her  colour  rising  a  little, 
"  not  a  Separatist.  There  is  no  one  I  reverence  and  admire 
more  than  the  Queen.  But  when  I  pray  that  she  may  ^  de- 
fend our  laws,'  I  assuredly  don't  mean  the  countless  coercion 
acts  under  which  my  country  has  groaned,  but  the  just  laws 
our  Parliament  of  the  future  will  pass.  Even  rebels  know 
how  to  honour  goodness.  Meagher  once  thrashed  a  man 
who  spoke  disrespectfully  of  Her  Majesty." 

The  fat  bass  stared ;  he  did  not  in  the  least  understand 
her ;  but  Warren,  the  tenor,  liked  her  spirit,  and  with  a 
kindly  word  or  two  turned  the  talk  to  some  other  subject. 

After  this  came  an  interval  when  she  was  glad  to  sit 
quietly  by  Hagar  Muchmore  in  the  artistes'  room.  A 
strangely  dreamy  feeling  crept  over  her;  she  forgot  her 
present  surroundings,  and  fell  to  thinking  of  Max  Hereford. 
Why  had  his  eyes  rested  so  tenderly  on  her  as  he  said  that 


92  DOREEN 

he  grudged  her  to  the  city  aldermen  ?  Why  had  he  pro- 
fessed to  be  jealous  of  Brian  Osmond,  the  doctor  ?  Why 
had  he,  at  parting,  taken  her  hand  right  into  his,  and  held 
it  for  a  minute,  as  if  he  would  fain  protect  her  ?  Not  one  of 
her  New  York  admirers  had  been  capable  of  reaching  her 
heart.  They  had  been  charmed  by  her  singing  and  by  her 
amusing  talk ;  but  Max  Hereford,*by  a  mere  look,  a  mere 
touch,  had,  in  a  single  afternoon,  outstripped  them  all.  She 
turned  over  the  leaves  of  her  next  song  by  way  of  checking 
her  thoughts,  but  to  little  purpose;  for  was  not  the  song 
"  Tell  me  my  Heart "  ?  And  what  was  it  that  her  heart 
was  telling  her?  It  was  silent,  quite  silent,  about  that 
great  career  which  every  one  prophesied  for  her ;  it  was  not 
the  very  least  elated  by  the  consciousness  of  her  power,  or 
the  knowledge  that  she  had  succeeded  well.  It  held  only 
one  image,  —  that  frank,  open,  English  face,  with  its  warm 
colouring,  its  genial  expression,  its  light  brown  hair,  and 
well-opened  hazel  eyes.  If  any  one  had  given  her  the  choice 
at  that  moment  of  all  that  she  most  desired,  she  would  un- 
hesitatingly have  said,  —  the  presence  of  Max  Hereford. 

"Time  for  your  song.  Miss  Doreen,"  said  Hagar;  "and 
you'd  best  be  careful  of  your  dress  on  the  stairs ;  for  those 
"waiters,  they've  dropped  gravy  and  custard,  and  I  don't 
know  what  all,  upon  them." 

Doreen  laughed;  as  she  gathered  up  her  train,  she  won- 
dered what  had  come  over  her,  that  all  at  once  she  should 
feel  so  strong  to  face  the  world.  Only  a  little  while  ago  she 
had  stood  like  a  forlorn  little  ghost  beside  the  great  con- 
tralto, and  had  glanced  with  timid  awe  at  those  marvellous 
silk  dresses  of  the  city  ladies,  which  looked  as  if  they  would 
stand  alone,  from  the  inherent  virtue  of  their  extra  super- 
fine quality.  There  was  surely,  too,  a  new  power  in  her 
rendering  of  Bishop's  song.  Never  before  had  she  attained 
such  pathos  as  in  the  first  verse,  or  such  joyous,  irrepressi- 
ble happiness  as  in  the  second  part  of  the  song.  The  audi- 
ence heartily  approved  of  her,  and  she  went  home  with 
Hagar  Muchmore^  holding   the  three  sovereigns   and  the 


DOREEN-  93 

three  shillings  in  her  hand,  with  a  glad  consciousness  that 
they  were  but  the  earnest  of  much  more  to  follow.  It  was 
not  until  the  quiet  of  the  house  in  Bernard  Street  once  more 
surrounded  her,  that  she  realized  how  lonely  she  was.  Uncle 
and  Aunt  Garth  were  the  kindest  people  in  the  world,  but 
they  had  singularly  little  power  of  expression,  and  went  on 
the  principle  of  "  Deeds,  not  words."  Now  Doreen  was  one 
of  those  who  disputed  the  truth  of  this  saying,  stoutly 
maintaining  that  deeds  without  words  were  as  dull  as  bread 
without  butter.  She  sorely  missed  the  genial  flow  of  talk 
which  her  father  had  accustomed  her  to ;  she  longed  with 
an  intolerable  longing  for  her  mother's  sweet  face  and  ready 
sympathy.  Half  the  pleasure  of  success  would  have  been 
in  the  joy  it  would  have  given  to  her  parents;  and  somehow 
it  was  impossible  to  give  a  graphic  description  of  the  even- 
ing at  the  supper-table,  where  Uncle  Garth  sat  with  his  news- 
paper before  him,  or  to  respond  very  much  to  Aunt  Garth's 
low-toned  questions.  The  profound  gravity  of  the  atmos- 
phere seemed  to  strangle  all  natural  mirth ;  moreover,  there 
was  something  trying  in  the  very  small  appetites  of  the 
host  and  hostess,  to  this  hungry  girl  of  eighteen,  who,  after 
her  very  early  dinner  and  the  hard  evening's  work,  could 
have  eaten  a  far  more  substantial  meal  than  the  one  pre- 
pared. It  was  inevitable  that  in  the  silence  her  thoughts 
should  wander  back  again  to  Max  Hereford,  —  Max,  who 
had  somehow  helped  her  that  night  to  sing  as  she  had 
never  sung  before,  and  whose  life,  for  weal  or  for  woe,  was 
irrevocably  bound  up  with  her  own. 

It  seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  that  he 
and  his  mother  should  call  the  next  day ;  the  house  grew 
brighter  at  once,  to  her  fancy,  and  with  an  almost  motherly 
pride  she  enjoyed  showing  the  children  to  Mrs.  Hereford, 
whose  heart  was  touched  by  the  little  pale  faces  which 
showed  evident  signs  of  recent  illness. 

"  They  want  country  air,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "  You  had 
better  send  them  down  to  Monkton  Verney ;  we  would  take 
every  care  of  them ;  have  you  a  nurse  you  could  trust  tO 
•take  then^  there?" 


94  DOREEAT 

"  Yes ;  Mrs.  Muchmore  is  the  most  trustworthy  being  in 
the  world/'  said  Doreen.  "  But  there  are  so  many  of  them, 
it  would  be  giving  so  much  trouble  in  your  house." 

"The  place  is  just  standing  empty,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford, 
"  and  a  month  in  the  country  would  do  them  all  the  great- 
est good.  As  to  trouble,  you  need  not  be  afraid  in  the 
least;  the  servants  will  be  thankful  to  have  them,  for  they 
find  the  months  of  our  absence  dull  enough.  Come,  let  us 
arrange  to  send  them  down  next  week.  It  is  such  an  easy 
journey ;  and  then  in  Easter  week,  when  we  intend  to  spend 
a  few  days  there  ourselves,  you  will,  I  hope,  come  with 
us:  the  country  will  be  looking  very  pretty  by  that  time. 
To  my  mind,  there  are  great  advantages  in  a  late  Easter, 
and  you  will  be  able  to  see  how  your  little  folks  are  getting 
on." 

Doreen's  heart  bounded  with  pleasure  at  the  suggestion ; 
she  could  only  gladly  consent .  to  a  plan  so  entirely  in 
accordance  with  her  own  feelings,  and  as  Mrs.  Hereford 
turned  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Garth,  she  looked  up  half  shyly  at 
Max. 

"  Do  you  remember,"  she  said,  "  how  long  ago  in  Ireland 
you  told  me  all  about  your  home,  and  about  the  old  priory, 
and  the  fir  hills,  arid  the  heather  ?  " 

"Ah,  we  shall  just  be  too  early  for  the  heather,"  said 
Max.  "You  must  come  again  later  on  for  that.  There 
are  dozens  of  places  I  want  to  take  you  to.  We  must 
climb  Eooksbury  together,  and  you  shall  wish  for  a  pros- 
perous career  at  the  wishing-tree,  and  we  will  row  on 
Trencham  Lake,  and  fancy  that  we  are  once  more  at  Castle 
Karey,  and  —  happy  thought  —  we  will  have  the  grand  open- 
ing of  the  new  Firdale  Coifee  Tavern  while  you  are  there." 

"  After  last  night,  I  feel  more  than  half  inclined  to  turn 
teetotaler,"  said  Doreen.  "  What  an  atmosphere  it  was  to 
sing  in !  And  then,  when  I  got  back  to  the  artistes'  room, 
with  my  throat  all  on  fire  with  the  smoke,  and  the  concen- 
trated essence  of  the  dinner  which  floated  up  to  us  in  the 
gallery,  there  was  all  the  difficulty  in  the  world  to  get  just 


DOREEN  95 

a  glass  of  water;  there  was  any  amount  of  champagne, 
but  a  glass  of  water  seemed  unattainable,  until  Hagar 
Muchmore,  who  is  not  easily  beaten,  went  down  herself  to 
forage  for  it." 

"  Who  will  go  about  with  you,  if  this  Mrs.  Muchmore  is 
down  at  Monkton  Verney  with  the  children  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  I  am  lucky  enough  to  get  any  engagements,  I 
shall  have  to  go  alone,"  said  Doreen.  "  But  they  say  it  is 
better  Avhen  you  can  to  have  some  one  with  you.  I  shall  not 
be  able  to  take  Hagar  about  the  country  with  me  when  I 
begin  to  get  provincial  engagements  though,  for  you  see  the 
expenses  would  mount  up  dreadfully.  Those  who  are 
alone  in  the  world  must  learn  to  fend  for  themselves." 

A  look  of  trouble  swept  over  Max  Hereford's  bright  face ; 
he  seemed  about  to  speak,  but  at  that  moment  little  Mollie 
trotted  up  to  her  sister  with  a  note  which  had  just  arrived. 

"  Freen,  the  agent ! "  said  Doreen,  glancing  at  the  hand- 
writing. "Perhaps  he  has  heard  of  more  work  for  me. 
Excuse  me  one  moment." 

She  read  the  letter,  and  looked  up  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"  It  is  an  offer  to  sing  in  the  *  Messiah '  the  day  after 
to-morrow,  at  the  Albert  Hall.  Just  think !  that  charming 
Miss  Latouche  is  still  indisposed." 

They  all  laughed  at  her  candid  spee3h. 

"  Well,  well,"  she  added,  "  I  am,  of  course,  sorry  for  her, 
and  I  hope  it's  a  comfortable  sort  of  illness.  But  only  to 
think  that  my  greatest  wish  should  have  come  so  soon !  I 
wonder  how  I  shall  manage  ^  Rejoice  Greatly  '  in  that  huge 
place ;  it  almost  frightens  me  to  think  of  it." 

"We  must  come  and  hear  you,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford. 
"  By  the  bye,  had  you  not  better  drive  there  with  us  ?  What 
time  should  you  wish  to  be  there  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  more  than  five  minutes  before  the  beginning," 
said  Doreen.  "Never  again  will  I  be  unpunctual  at  the 
wrong  end,  and  have  a  whole  hour  to  wait  as  I  had  last 
night;  it  takes  all  the  courage  out  of  one  and  sets  one's 
nerves  on  edge.  It  is  so  very  kind  of  you  to  offer  to  take 
me," 


96  DOREEN 

"  It  will  be  a  great  pleasure,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford,  kissing 
the  sweet,  sunsMny  face,  which  seemed  to  her  still  to  retain 
much  of  its  childlike  character.  "I  have  often  wondered 
whether  I  should  ever  again  hear  the  voice  that  Max  dis- 
covered in  Ireland ;  and  to  hear  you  in  the  '■  Messiah '  will 
be  a  special  treat." 

"  I  shall  not  feel  so  alone  if  you  are  in  the  audience,"  said 
Doreen ;  "  I  shall  sing  to  you,  and  forget  the  rest  of  the 
people." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

**  A  smile  that  turns  the  sunny  side  o'  the  heart 
On  all  the  world,  as  if  herself  did  win 
By  what  she  lavished  on  an  open  mart  I 

Let  no  man  call  the  liberal  sweetness  sin,  — 
For  friends  may  whisper  as  they  stand  apart, 

*Methinks  there's  still  some  warmer  place  within.'  " 

E.  Barbett  Browning. 

"  Was  I  right  ?  "  said  Max  to  his  mother,  as  they  drove 
that  afternoon  from  Bernard  Street.  "Is  she  what  I  de- 
scribed to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford.  "  I  don't  think  you  said  a 
word  too  much  in  her  praise.  If  success  does  not  spoil  her, 
I  think  she  will  be  a  very  noble  woman.  And  I  don't  think 
it  will  spoil  her,  for  she  seems  too  large-hearted  for  petty 
vanity." 

"  I  wish  she  need  never  take  up  this  hateful  profession," 
said  Max,  with  a  sigh.  "  Think  of  the  mixed  lot  of  people 
she  will  be  forced  to  associate  with ;  some  of  them  no  better 
than  they  should  be." 

"  You  might  say  just  the  same  of  Miriam,  in  her  society 
life,"  said  his  mother.  "  I  don't  see  that  it  is  more  objec- 
tionable to  sing  with  a  bad  man  than  to  dance  with  him :  the 
tares  and  the  wheat  are  together,  and  we  have  not  the  sepa- 
rating of  them.  Doreen  seems  to  me  the  sort  of  girl  who 
would  pass  unscathed  through  the  most  difficult  life. 
*  Mailed  complete  in  her  white  innocence,'  as  Whittier  puts 
it.     By  innocence   I   don't  mean  ignorance,  but  a  nature 

97  H 


98  DOREEN- 

without  guile,  —  a  nature  that  will  neither  harm  nor  be 
harmed." 

"  Yet  the  fate  of  her  nation  seems  to  be  upon  her,"  said 
Max.  "Think  of  the  troubles  that  have  from  her  very 
childhood  persistently  beset  her!  Do  you  remember  the 
account  she  gave  us  of  her  father's  arrest  ?  " 

"Yes,  poor  child;  and  for  all  her  brightness  you  can 
easily  see  that  the  shock  of  last  January  has,  in  a  sense, 
ended  her  girlhood.  Though  so  much  younger  than  Miriam, 
she  has  already  about  her  an  almost  motherly  tenderness 
which  I  doubt  whether  Miriam  will  ever  gain." 

"You  are  always  a  little  hard  on  Miriam,"  said  Max, 
laughing ;  "  but  we  should  fare  very  ill  without  her.  She  is 
quite  unique,  you  must  admit,  and,  like  Phyllis  in  the  song, 
*  never  fails  to  please.' " 

Mrs.  Hereford  did  not  reply ;  for  in  truth  her  niece  was  a 
sore  peri)lexity  to  her,  and  she  had  for  the  last  three  years 
lived  in  terror  lest  Max  should  fall  in  love  with  her,  —  a  pos- 
sible, but  highly  undesirable,  ending  to  the  cousinly  friend- 
ship and  intimacy  which  had  so  long  existed  between  them. 
She  ardently  longed  to  see  Miriam  satisfactorily  married 
and  settled,  but  the  girl  seemed  in  no  haste  to  comply  with 
this  wish ;  she  flirted  and  amused  herself,  and  used  Max  as 
a  convenient  cavali^re  servente,  when  no  one  more  desirable 
was  to  be  had.  It  was,  perhaps,  natural  that  Mrs.  Hereford, 
in  her  terror  of  what  this  might  lead  to,  and  her  desire  to 
rescue  her  son  from  a  position  which  chafed  her  motherly 
pride,  should  turn  with  relief  to  such  a  woman  as  Doreen 
O'llyan.  She  had  immediately  learnt,  from  her  son's  way 
of  talking  about  the  girl,  that  he  greatly  admired  her,  and 
she  was  too  unworldly  and  unconventional  to  care  in  the 
least  for  wealth  or  social  standing.  Doreen  was  good,  lov- 
ing, well  bred,  well  educated.  What  did  it  matter  that  her 
father  had  been  on  the  staff  of  a  rebel  paper,  and  had  been 
imprisoned  at  the  time  of  the  Fenian  rising  ?  The  impor- 
tant thing  was  that  this  sweet- voiced,  sweet-natured  Irish 
girl  would  be  far,  far  more  likely  to  make  Max  a  good  wife, 


^m 


DOREEAT  99 

than  Miriam,  with  her  restless  craving  for  incessant  amuse- 
ment and  incessant  admiration. 

She  left  the  choice  of  seats  for  the  concert  to  Max,  and 
was  secretly  amused  at  his  chagrin  when  he  returned. 

"  Nothing  to  be  had  in  the  stalls  till  the  tenth  row,"  he 
said ;  "  however,  it  is  the  right  side,  so  perhaps  after  all  it 
is  not  so  bad.  Are  there  any  decent  flowers  in  the  con- 
servatory that  we  could  send  Miss  O'Kyan  ?  " 

"  Plenty  of  lilies-of-the-valley,  if  they  will  do,"  said  Mrs. 
Hereford.  "  You  had  better  let  Harding  arrange  them  for 
you ;  she  made  two  lovely  sprays  for  Miriam  the  other  night." 

But  this  did  not  suit  Max  at  all.  His  mother  learnt  from 
the  maid  that  he  had  insisted  on  arranging  the  flowers  him- 
self, and  the  result  seemed  satisfactory ;  for  when,  on  the 
eventful  night,  they  called  for  Doreen,  the  white  lilies  in 
her  dark  hair,  skilfully  arranged  by  Mrs.  Muchmore's  clever 
fingers,  looked  really  charming. 

"  The  rest  of  them  I  have  here,"  she  said,  throwing  back 
her  cloak,  and  showing  the  lilies  nestled  against  her  snowy 
neck. 

"  And  there  is  the  real,  original,  '  Colleen  Bawn '  cloak," 
said  Max;  "now  I  can  imagine  myself  once  more  at 
Castle  Karey." 

"  Well,  not  exactly  the  original  one,"  said  Doreen,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  that  has  been  cut  up  for  Mollie.  You  seem  to  forget 
that  I  have  grown  since  we  were  in  Ireland." 

Presently  a  silence  fell  upon  them.  Mrs.  Hereford 
guessed  that  the  girl  was  somewhat  nervous;  yet  there 
were  no  signs  of  special  excitement  about  her  face,  when 
now  and  then  it  became  clearly  visible,  as  the  light  from  a 
street  lamp  flashed  across  it.  "  It  is  a  noble  face,"  thought 
Mrs.  Hereford ;  and,  in  truth,  that  was  the  first  impression 
that  Doreen  usually  made  upon  people.  Later  on  they 
would  describe  her  as  charming  and  winsome ;  but  the  first 
thought  was  invariably  of  a  certain  indefinable  air  of  good- 
ness, a  loftiness  of  soul^  which  invested  the  face  with  a 
strange  power. 

b2 


100  DOREEIsr 

"  This  must  be  a  great  day  for  you,'^  said  Mrs.  Hereford, 
guessing  a  little  what  was  passing  in  the  girl's  mind. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Doreen,  "  it  feels  to  me  like  my 
confirmation  day;  and  I  am  so  glad  that  what  may  be 
counted  as  my  first  real  appearance  in  public  is  to  be  in  the 
^Messiah.'  How  I  have  dreamed  of  attempting  it,  and 
longed  to  try ! " 

"I  suppose  you  do  not  come  in  just  at  first?"  said 
Max ;  "  doesn't  the  soprano  always  have  an  effective  little 
entrance  all  to  herself  just  before  the  pastoral  symphony  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Doreen,  "disturbing  the  first  violins,  and 
making  an  unnecessary  fuss.  I  don't  mean  to  do  that,  but 
shall  come  in  at  the  beginning  with  the  others ;  it  seems  to 
me  in  better  taste,  especially  for  a  novice." 

With  a  little  shudder  she  saw  that  they  were  fast 
approaching  their  destination, — there  upon  one  side  was 
the  Albert  Memorial,  while  in  advance  she  could  see  the 
lights  in  the  great  hall,  and  the  throng  of  carriages. 

"  There  goes  Madame  St.  Pierre ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  they 
paused  while  the  brougham  in  advance  of  them  set  down  its 
occupants.  "  That  is  fortunate ;  now  I  can  go  to  the 
artistes'  room  under  her  wing." 

For  a  moment  her  hand  rested  in  Max  Hereford's  as  he 
helped  her  to  alight ;  then  with  hasty  farewells  she  ran  up 
the  steps,  pushed  open  the  swing  door  before  he  could  fore- 
stall her,  and  hurried  away  in  pursuit  of  the  retreating  con- 
tralto. Max,  feeling  baffled  and  unaccountably  miserable, 
returned  to  the  carriage. 

"  Stalls'  entrance  ! "  he  said  sharply  to  the  coachman  as 
he  closed  the  door. 

"  Well,  she  seems  in  good  spirits,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford ; 
"  it  is  a  terrible  ordeal  for  a  girl  of  that  age." 

"Yes,"  said  Max  grimly ;  "  but  her  whole  heart  is  in  her 
work.     She  is,  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  an  artiste." 

"  True  artiste,  yet  true  woman,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford 
quietly ;  and  the  words  came  back  to  Max  comfortingly  as 
he  sat  in  the  vast  hall,  listening  to  that  somewhat  stirring 


DOREEAT  toi 

process  of  the  tuning  of  a  great  orchestra,  and  watching  the 
chorus  as  they  assembled,  yet  never  letting  his  eyes  roam 
far  from  that  particular  little  opening  whence  he  knew  the 
solo  singers  would  shortly  emerge. 

But  first  of  all  came  the  conductor,  with  evident  inten- 
tion of  making  a  speech.  A  thrill  of  disapprobation  ran 
through  the  assembly ;  for  was  not  Clinton  Cleve,  the  great 
tenor,  to  sing  that  evening,  and  had  he  not,  owing  to  his 
terribly  susceptible  throat,  a  most  trying  habit  of  disappoint- 
ing people  at  the  last  moment  ?  There  was  perfect  silence 
for  a  minute,  and  the  conductor,  to  the  general  relief,  an- 
nounced that,  owing  to  the  indisposition  of  Miss  Latouche, 
the  soprano  solos  had  been  undertaken,  at  very  short  notice, 
by  Miss  Doreen  O'Ryan.  The  people  clapped,  not  because 
they  cared  at  all  for  this  unknown  debutante,  but  because 
they  were  intensely  relieved  that  it  was  the  soprano  and  not 
the  tenor  who  had  failed.  In  another  minute,  there  was  a 
burst  of  applause,  as  the  bass  appeared,  leading  Madame  St. 
Pierre,  followed  by  loud  cheers  as  the  beloved  tenor,  the 
idol  of  the  public,  emerged  from  the  back  of  the  platform, 
graciously  ushering  in  the  white-robed  debutante,  and  making 
her  smile  by  a  low-toned  injunction  to  remember  the  words 
spoken  to  Fanny  Kemble,  and  to  regard  the  audience  as  so 
many  rows  of  cabbages.  Fortunately  for  Doreen,  the  very 
size  of  the  vast  assembly  was  in  her  favour;  the  place  seemed 
vague  and  dream-like,  the  huge  gathering,  just  an  impersonal 
mass,  gorgeously  coloured  like  some  brilliant  and  crowded 
flower-garden.  Then,  when  Clinton  Cleve  had  sung,  as 
no  other  tenor  could  sing,  "Comfort  ye,"  and  "Every  Val- 
ley," she  no  longer  thought  of  success  or  failure,  of  criticism 
or  of  the  children's  daily  bread,  but  lost  everything  in  the 
perfect  enjoyment  of  the  music,  and  in  the  strong  desire  to 
tell  forth  her  divine  message  in  the  most  perfect  manner 
possible.  In  the  last  chorus  before  her  trying  recitatives, 
she  sang  a  few  bars,  gaining  confidence  as  her  voice  blended 
with  the  others,  and  falling  more  and  more  into  the  spirit 
of  the  oratorio,  as  with  her  heart  and  soul  she  sang  of 
"  The  everlasting  Father,  the  Prince  of  Peace." 


I02  DOREEN' 

All  nervousness  had  now  left  her ;  it  was  Max  who  was 
nervous,  as  he  sat  there  in  the  stalls,  watching  the  absorbed, 
sweet  face  of  the  girl  he  loved.  Had  she,  indeed,  forgotten 
this  great  assembly  of  critical  people  ?  It  seemed  like  it, 
for  she  looked  as  happy  and  peaceful  as  though  she  had 
been  listening  to  the  angels'  music  on  the  far-away,  quiet 
hillside  near  Bethlehem.  And  when  the  violins  ceased,  she 
stood  up  with  a  simple,  straightforward,  almost  childlike 
air,  her  clear,  reedy  voice  sounding  softly  through  the  great 
hall,  as  she  told  how  "  There  were  shepherds  abiding  in  the 
field,  keeping  watch  over  their  flocks  by  night."  Max  lost 
all  fear  for  her,  as  she  delivered  the  message  of  the  angel ; 
he  lost  that  shrinking  from  the  thought  of  the  solitary  girl 
standing  up  in  the  huge  building,  for  it  was  no  longer  possible 
to  doubt  that  Doreen  had  found  her  true  vocation.  He  won- 
dered that  he  had  wished  it  to  be  otherwise,  so  great  a  thing 
did  it  seem  to  him  that  she  should  be  able  to  keep  thousands 
spell-bound,  to  raise  them,  if  but  for  a  time,  into  such  divine 
enjoyment.  It  was  not  until  the  end  of  her  most  trying 
solo,  "  Kejoice  Greatly,"  —  a  song  which  taxed  her  strength 
very  severely,  —  that  she  could  receive  any  recognition  from 
the  audience  ;  but  then,  just  as  she  became  conscious  of  her 
excessive  exhaustion,  there  came  a  stimulating  burst  of 
applause.  This  was  renewed  so  vigorously  and  persistently 
after  "  Come  unto  Him  all  ye  that  labour,"  that  it  became 
really  necessary  to  repeat  the  song,  and  there  were  tears  in 
many  eyes  as  the  exquisite  air,  all  the  better  loved  because 
so  familiar  to  every  one,  fell  once  more  upon  the  listening 
throng  in  that  wooingly  sweet  voice.  In  the  interval,  she 
realized  that  her  career  had  begun  most  auspiciously,  for 
every  one  spoke  to  her  with  the  greates-t  kindness.  Clinton 
Cleve  laid  a  fatherly  hand  on  her  shoulder,  genuine  pleas- 
ure lighting  up  his  rugged  old  face,  as  he  looked  down  at 
her. 

'^You  did  very  well,  —  very  well  indeed,"  he  said.  "I 
like  your  style,  and  the  timbre  of  your  voice  is  sympathetic. 
Would  to  heaven  that  I  were  at  your  age,  with  my  career 
just  beginning ! " 


He  patted  her  cheek  as  though  she  had  been  a  child,  and 
turned  away  with  a  sigh,  wandering  off  in  search  of  a  mir- 
ror, that  he  might  see  whether  his  wig  was  well  adjusted. 
Doreen  w\as  next  accosted  by  the  conductor,  who,  at  the 
rehearsal  on  the  previous  day,  had  been  somewhat  brusque 
with  her,  but  was  now  full  of  compliments  and  congratular 
tions;  and  then  Madame  St.  Pierre  came  up  to  introduce 
her  husband,  the  well-known  harpist. 

"We  have  a  little  project  to  suggest  to  you,"  she  said. 
"  Monsieur  St.  Pierre  and  I  intended  to  get  up  a  company 
this  autumn  for  a  provincial  tour.  Mr.  Freen  tells  me  you 
have  at  present  no  engagements  for  the  autumn,  and  I  am 
quite  willing  to  accede  to  the  terms  he  requires  for  you. 
Possibly  we  may  have  Madame  Gauthier,  the  pianist ;  but 
there  will  be  no  other  lady  in  the  party,  and  you  would  hnd 
her  rather  a  pleasant  travelling-companion;  we  hope  to 
induce  Terrier,  the  celebrated  bass,  to  be  one  of  the 
party." 

Doreen  could  only  thankfully  accept  a  proposal  which 
would,  as  she  well  knew,  do  much  to  give  her  an  assured 
position  in  the  musical  world;  and  when,  at  length,  her 
work  for  that  evening  was  over,  and  she  found  Max  Here- 
ford waiting  outside  the  door  to  help  her  into  the  brougham, 
her  face  was  radiant. 

"  My  dear,  how  tired  you  must  be,"  was  Mrs.  Hereford's 
motherly  greeting,  as  she  made  room  for  the  girl  beside 
her.     "  You  have,  indeed,  given  us  a  treat  to-night." 

"  They  were  all  so  kind  to  me  afterwards,"  said  Doreen. 
"  And,  oh,  it  is  a  wonderful  oratorio  to  sing  in !  I  am  so 
glad  my  first  appearance  was  in  that,  for  it  is  the  Irish 
Oratorio,  you  know." 

"How  is  that?"  said  Max. 

"  Handel  was  very  fond  of  the  Irish,"  she  replied,  "  and 
the  ^  Messiah '  was  first  performed  in  Dublin,  and  the  pro- 
ceeds were  given  to  the  distressed  prisoners'  fund.  Many 
of  those  who  were  in  gaol  for  debt  were  really  freed  by  it. 
I  kept  on  thinking  of  that  to-niglit :  it  was  the  performance. 


104  DOREEN 

you  know,  when  all  the  great  ladies  agreed  to  leave  off 
their  hoops,  that  there  might  be  more  room." 

"What  did  it  feel  like  to  have  that  huge  audience 
applauding  you  so  heartily  ?  "  said  Max. 

"It  felt  lovely,"  she  said,  with  the  utmost  frankness ;  "as 
refreshing  as  ice-cream  soda  on  a  hot  day  in  New  York." 

They  laughed  at  her  simile;  but  a  passing  gas-lamp 
revealed  to  her  the  same  look  on  Max  Hereford's  face  that 
had  startled  her  when  she  spoke  of  Brian  Osmond,  the  doc- 
tor, a  few  days  before. 

"  You  said  you  grudged  me  to  the  aldermen,  and  I  believe 
you  had  the  same  feeling  to-night,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  And 
that  is  very  unfair,  since  you  yourself  were  among  the 
audience.  Or  is  it  that  you  grudge  me  the  applause  ?  That 
is  even  more  unfair.  You  see  the  short-lived  triumph,  but 
you  don't  at  all  realize  the  years  of  study  and  preparation, 
the  scales  and  the  exercises  and  the  monotony  of  hard  work, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  anxiety." 

Max  wondered  how  she  had  discovered  from  his  manner 
that  vague  discomfort  which  he  could  not  at  all  justify. 

"Every  one  must  have  realized  to-night  that  you  had 
found  your  vocation,"  he  said,  "  and  to-morrow  I  shall  seize 
the  opportunity  of  laying  trophies  at  your  feet  in  the  shape- 
of  the  daily  papers." 

"Ah!  the  critics!  I  had  forgot  that  they  were  there 
taking  notes  to-night.  How  I  dread  them  !  It  is  horrible 
to  think  how  much  depends  on  a  few  lines  in  a  paper. 
And  if  the  writer  happens  to  be  in  a  bad  temper  or  to  have 
the  toothache,  ten  to  one  he  will  visit  his  discomfort  on 
others,  and  put  in  words  of  carping  criticism  that  may 
ruin  a  singer's  reputation." 

"  Somehow,  I  don't  think  they  will  be  hard  on  you,"  said 
Max.  "If  they  are,  you  must  follow  the  example  of 
Vaughan  the  novelist.  I  met  him  at  the  club  the  other 
day,  and  the  talk  happened  to  turn  on  a  most  ruffianly 
attack  made  upon  him  lately  in  the  ^  Hour.'  Now  I  hap- 
pened to  know  who  had  written  it,  and  said  so.     ^  Don't 


DOREEAT  105 

tell  me  his  name/  said  Vaughan,  with  that  quietly  humor- 
ous smile  of  his ;  *  I  prefer  to  picture  him  as  a  poor,  strug- 
gling, penny-a-liner,  working  in  a  garret,  soured  by  lack  of 
success  and  desperately  hungry.  With  the  proceeds  of 
that  critique,  he  went  out  and  had  a  rattling  good  dinner, 
and  upon  my  word  I  am  glad  to  have  furnished  him  with  a 
meal.' " 

"Was  the  critic  really  poor  and  half -starved  ? "  said 
Doreen. 

"  No,  nothing  of  the  sort ;  just  a  conceited  young  jacka- 
napes fresh  from  Oxford,  and  much  spoiled  by  the  flattery 
of  his  home  circle ;  a  fastidious,  narrow-minded  prig,  who, 
if  he  lives  to  be  a  hundred,  will  never  do  as  much  for  the 
world  as  Vaughan  has  already  done." 

"And  the  moral  of  that  is,  ^ A  fig  for  the  critics,'"  said 
Doreen,  laughing.  "  But  all  the  same,  I  shall  want  to  see 
what  they  say,  and  I  don't  at  all  want  to  share  the  fate  of 
Kingsley's  '  Feckless  hairy  oubit,'  when  <  The  saumon  fry 
they  all  arose  and  made  their  meals  of  him.' " 

The  talk  turned  upon  the  arrangements  for  sending  the 
children  to  Firdale,  and  Doreen,  tired  but  very  happy,  was 
set  down  in  Bernard  Street,  where  every  one  but  Hagar 
Muchmore  had  retired  to  bed. 

"Cold  and  hungry,  ain't  you,"  said  the  kindly  nurse; 
"  come  and  sit  you  down  by  the  fire,  and  eat  this  basin  of 
mock  turtle.    'Twill  hearten  you  up  nicely." 

Doreen,  dreamily  happy  and  content,  took  the  proffered 
chair,  and  held  out  her  dainty  white-shod  feet  to  the  fire. 

"Please  take  the  lilies  out  of  my  hair,"  she  said.  "I 
want  to  keep  them.  Oh,  Hagar !  it  has  been  a  wonderful 
evening ;  I  wish  it  were  just  beginning  over  again  instead 
of  all  being  over." 

"  Bless  your  heart ! "  said  Hagar,  almost  tenderly ;  "  you're 
young,  — yes,  very  young." 

But  it  was  not  the  applause,  or  the  sense  of  triumph,  or 
even  the  recollection  of  the  music,  which  lingered  in 
Doreen's  memory  so  delicipusl^.     It  was  the  close  pressure 


io6  DOREEN- 

of  Max  Hereford's  hand  as  lie  bade  her  farewell  on  the 
doorstep,  and  the  glance  which  had  said  so  plainly,  "I 
belong  to  you,  and  you  to  me." 

All  night  long  she  seemed  to  dream  of  him,  and  it  was 
with  no  surprise  that  soon  after  twelve  the  next  morning, 
as  she  was  practising  in  the  drawing-room,  she  heard  his 
name  announced.  He  came  in  looking  unusually  blithe 
and  contented,  some  half-dozen  newspapers  in  his  hand. 

"  Here  are  the  trophies,"  he  said,  when  she  had  replied 
to  his  inquiries,  and  had  persuaded  him  that  she  was  none 
the  worse  for  the  fatigue  of  the  previous  night.  "  Oh  yes, 
you  need  not  be  afraid ;  you  can  read  them  without  calling 
up  that  picture  of  the  hungry  scribe  in  the  attic,  for  they 
are  one  and  all  agreed  about  you." 

"  And  prophesy  the  great  career,  no  doubt,"  said  Doreen, 
laughing  merrily  as  she  glanced  through  the  critiques. 
"  Well,  they  are  very  kind  to  me,  —  quite  wonderfully  kind. 
Such  praise  makes  one  inclined  to  quote  Dr.  Watts,  and 
sing,  ^  Not  more  than  others  I  deserve.'  And  yet  do  you 
know  last  night  when  it  was  all  over,  and  I  went  up  to  look 
at  the  children  in  bed,  and  found  them  sleeping  so  peace- 
fully, and  was  so  happy  to  know  that  their  education  and 
bringing  up  was  now  quite  safe,  I  couldn't  help  feeling  that 
I  should  be  very,  very  sorry  if  Mollie  or  Bride  had  to  be 
professional  singers.  I  don't  think  I  could  bear  to  think 
of  it  for  them." 

"Now  you  understand  me,"  said  Max,  triumphantly; 
"now  you  realize  that  grudging  feeling  of  which  you 
accused  me." 

"But  to  be  a  singer  is  my  vocation,"  said  Doreen, 
musingly ;  "  I  am  as  certain  of  that  as  that  we  are  talking 
together  at  this  moment.  I  couldn't  be  a  painter,  or  a 
governess,  or  a  do-nothing  sort  of  person,  or  a  nun.  Even 
before  the  Castle  Karey  days  I  knew  quite  well  that  I  had 
to  be  a  singer." 

"  Yet  you  own  that  you  would  not  wish  one  you  love  to 
take  up  the  work  ?  " 


DOREEN  107 

"  If  it  were  their  vocation,  they  would  be  obliged  to  take 
it  up,  but  I  hope  it  will  not  be  their  special  work.  I  would 
so  much  rather  they  could  just  be  quietly  at  home." 

"  Why  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Because  I  see  now  that  the  life  of  any  artiste  must  be  a 
double  life,  and  that  it  must  be  very,  very  difficult  to  make 
both  the  lives  what  they  should  be.  It  is  bad  enough  to 
face  it  for  oneself,  and  a  great  deal  worse  to  think  of  my 
sweet  Mollie  having  to  play  so  hard  a  part." 

Max  seemed  about  to  speak,  but  something  in  his  look 
made  her  hurriedly  proceed,  as  though  she  were  anxious  to 
check  him. 

"  But  it  is  ungrateful  to  speak  thus  of  the  life,  when  all 
the  time  I  know  there  will  be  much  that  is  enjoyable  about 
it,  and  that  it  is  my  clear  duty  to  live  it.  And  now,  as  to 
the  children's  journey  to  Firdale.  I  am  the  worst  hand  in 
the  world  at  Bradshaw,  but  auntie  assures  me  that  the  2.45 
is  the  best  train,  and  that  they  won't  have  any  change." 

Max  found  himself  remorselessly  plunged  into  the  dreary 
discussion  of  practical  details,  and  knew  that  it  would  now 
be  impossible  to  say  what  had  been  trembling  on  his  lips 
but  a  minute  ago.  However,  he  consoled  himself  by  the  re- 
membrance that  Doreen  would  soon  be  at  Firdale  herself, 
and  that  it  would  be  hard  indeed  if  the  fir  woods,  the  lake, 
or  the  ivy-grown  ruins  of  the  Priory  would  not  affotd  him 
place  and  opportunity  to  open  his  heart  to  her. 


CHAPTER  X. 

**  Her  summer  nature  felt  a  need  to  bless, 
And  a  like  longing  to  be  blest  again." 

Lowell. 

Miss  Latouche  remained  obligingly  ill  for  the  next  fort- 
night, and  Doreen  was  fortunate  enough  to  be  asked  to  take 
three  of  her  engagements  in  the  provinces.  Nothing,  how- 
ever, chanced  to  interfere  with  her  visit  to  Firdale,  and  Mrs. 
Hereford  arranged  to  call  for  her  in  the  carriage  and  take 
her  to  the  station;  for  she  was  one  of  those  people  who,  al- 
though rich  themselves,  have  enough  imagination  to  under- 
stand how  to  be  really  helpful  to  those  who  have  to  think 
of  every  sixpence.  Her  visitors  were  always  made  to  under- 
stand that  no  gratuities  must  be  given  to  her  servants,  and 
the  servants  themselves,  who  were  amply  compensated  in 
other  ways  by  their  mistress,  would  no  more  have  accepted 
a  fee  than  an  attendant  in  a  well-ordered  theatre  or  a  wait- 
ress in  an  aerated  bread  shop.  In  this  way  it  was  possible 
to  make  Monkton  Verney  the  greatest  boon  to  many  who 
were  sorely  in  need  of  change,  yet  had  little  enough  to  live 
upon. 

Doreen  was  just  sufficiently  tired  to  enjoy  most  thoroughly 
the  prospect  of  a  rest,  and,  though  she  was  far  from  being 
self-indulgent,  and  was  quite  content  with  the  simplest  style 
of  living,  she  was  nevertheless  conscious  of  keen  enjoj'-ment 
as  she  lay  back  in  the  luxurious  carriage,  and  still  more 
when  at  the  station  she  found  everything  beautifully  arranged 
fo?  l^er.     It  was  delightful  to  be  waited  upon  by  Max  Here- 

m 


DOREEN'  109 

ford ;  it  was  pleasant  to  have  no  anxiety  about  luggage,  or 
recalcitrant  porters,  or  grasping  cabmen ;  it  was  restful,  too, 
to  be  tucked  up  cosily  in  the  corner  seat  of  a  first-class  car- 
riage, instead  of  skirmishing  for  oneself  in  a  crowded  third- 
class  compartment;  and,  above  all,  it  was  a  treat  not  to 
be  alone,  but  to  have  companions  who  at  every  turn  seemed 
to  consider  her  comfort.  She  made  them  laugh  with  her 
merry  account  of  her  three  journeys  into  the  provinces. 

"  Aunt  Garth  did  not  half  like  my  going  alone,'^  she  said, 
"  and  persuaded  me  at  Exeter  to  go  to  a  very  small,  quiet, 
old-fashioned  hotel,  thinking  it  would  be  nicer  for  me.  But 
nothing  could  have  been  worse.  It  was  so  very  quiet  that 
there  was  only  one  other  visitor.  I  came  down  rather  early 
to  dimier,  and  thought  that  at  such  an  hour  I  should  probably 
dine  alone.  But  at  the  long  table  were  two  places  laid,  and 
scarcely  had  the  soup  been  removed,  when  in  stalked  a  sol- 
emn, black-bearded  Frenchman.  He  spoke  no  word,  but  sat 
down  opposite  me,  tucked  his  table  napkin  into  his  collar, 
felt  in  his  waistcoat  pocket  and  drew  out  a  pill-box,  from 
which  he  produced  two  huge  black  pills  as  big  as  the  top  of 
my  thumb,  —  they  truly  were  quite  as  big.  Whether  he  saw 
me  shaking  with  suppressed  laughter  I  don't  know.  We 
simultaneously  grasped  the  water  caraffe ;  he  withdrew  his 
hand ;  I  poured  out  a  tumblerful,  and  gulped  down  my  mirth 
as  well  as  I  could ;  he  followed  my  example,  and  with  fright- 
ful agility  swallowed  his  pills.  After  that  experience,  I 
don't  think  I  shall  venture  on  small  hotels  again !  " 

The  first  sight  that  greeted  them  on  the  Firdale  platform 
was  Michael's  eager  little  face,  which  lighted  up  till  it  posi- 
tively shone  as  he  caught  sight  of  Doreen. 

"  The  coachman  let  me  drive  part  of  the  way  to  the  sta- 
tion," he  said  gleefully.  "  He  is  the  j oiliest  man  you  ever 
saw,  and,  oh,  there  are  such  heaps  of  things  to  show  you ! 
Mollie  wanted  to  come  too,  but  we  thought  she'd  better  not, 
because  T  shall  have  to  be  inside  going  back,  as  the  what- 
you-call-it  —  the  waiter  —  no,  I  mean  the  footman,  —  from 
London,  will  be  on  the  box." 


no  DOREEN 

Michael's  unfailing  tongue  chattered  the  whole  way  to 
Monkton  Verney,  and  his  pride  in  pointing  out  to  Doreen 
every  possible  point  of  interest  greatly  amused  Mrs.  Here- 
ford. 

"  Why,  Michael,  I  think  you  must  be  intended  for  a  news- 
paper correspondent,"  said  Max,  greatly  taken  with  the 
bright-eyed  boy.     "  Nothing  seems  to  escape  you." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  write,"  said  Michael.  "  It's  Dermot 
that  means  to  go  in  for  that.  I  do  so  want  to  be  an  en- 
gineer." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  I  counted  it  a  great  proof  of  your  affection 
that  you  were  looking  out  for  me,  when  our  train  came  in, 
and  not  studying  the  engine,"  said  Doreen,  laughing.  "En- 
gines are  his  latest  hobby;  he  will  read  the  driest  books 
about  them,  and  will  rattle  off  the  names  of  their  component 
parts  in  a  way  that  makes  my  brain  reel." 

"  But  you  like  them  yourself,"  said  Michael,  wistfully. 

"  Why,  yes,  asthore,  of  course  I  do.  I  like  anything  that 
you  like,  and  will  never  forget  to  tell  you  the  name,  and  the 
sort,  and  the  colour  of  every  engine  I  travel  by." 

"  It  will  be  a  great  help  to  you,  if  both  boys  have  some 
marked  inclination  to  guide  you  in  their  education,"  said 
Mrs.  Hereford.  "  You  had  better  talk  to  the  Worthingtons, 
who  are  coming  to  stay  with  us  to-morrow.  Sir  Henry 
Worthington  is  a  great  railway  director,  and  would  be  able 
to  give  you  plenty  of  advice  as  to  Michael's  future." 

"  You  will  like  the  Worthingtons,"  said  Max.  "  They  are 
the  most  delightful  people ;  and  Lady  Worthington  is  Irish. 
We  must  keep  off  politics,  though ;  for  they  are  of  the  oppo- 
site party.  Have  you  heard  yet,  mother,  when  Uncle  Here- 
ford comes  ?  " 

"He  says  he  will  ride  over  from  the  camp  to-morrow 
afternoon.  His  portmanteau  must  be  brought  from  the 
station  with  the  Worthingtons'  things.  I^ow,  Doreen,  this 
is  the  beginning  of  Monkton  Verney,  and  we  shall  soon  be 
home.     I  am  sure  you  must  be  longing  for  afternoon  tea." 

"  And  for  the  children,"  said  Max,  with  a  glance  at  her 
eager  eyes. 


DOREEAT  III 

"  Yes,**  she  said,  smiling.  "  What  a  paradise  it  has  been 
for  them ! " 

The  road  skirted  the  park,  of  which  glimpses  could  now 
and  then  be  seen  through  a  thick  wild-wood  which  bordered 
it.  On  the  other  side  lay  peaceful,  green  meadows,  a  nar- 
row, winding  river,  and  the  woods  of  a  neighbouring  estate, 
not  yet  in  leaf,  but  with  those  varying  hues  of  early  spring 
which  are  almost  more  beautiful  than  the  following  stage. 
Presently  they  came  to  a  place  where  four  ways  met. 

A  steep,  sandy  road  led  upwards  among  stately  fir  groves, 
and  Max  drew  her  attention  to  it. 

"  That  is  the  way  we  shall  take  you  to  Rooksbury,"  he 
said. 

"  And  there  is  the  water-mill  that  I  sketched  for  you  in 
my  letter,"  said  Michael. 

"  And  here  we  are  at  home,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford,  as  the 
carriage  turned  in  at  the  pretty  gate-way  near  the  mill. 

But  Doreen  had  hardly  a  glance  to  spare  for  the  solid, 
well-built,  slightly  prosaic  mansion;  she  only  saw  two  little 
figures  dancing  about  on  the  steps,  and  in  another  minute 
Dermot  and  Mollie  had  flung  themselves  upon  her. 

"  And  if  you  choke  me  with  the  four  arms  of  you  round 
my  throat,  what  will  become  of  us  all  then?"  she  said 
gaily,  carrying  off  Mollie  to  greet  Mrs.  Hereford,  her  heart 
full  of  joy  at  the  sight  of  the  bonny  little  face  so  dear  to 
her. 

The  country  air  had  brought  the  colour  back  to  all  the 
pale  little  faces,  and  Mrs.  Muchmore,  established  in  a  large, 
airy  nursery,  was  full  of  pride  in  the  well-being  of  her  small 
charges. 

"  Hagar  Muchmore  is  really  the  most  wonderful  woman," 
said  Doreen,  as  she  rejoined  Mrs.  Hereford  in  the  drawing- 
room.  "  She  has  the  art  of  making  herself  at  home  every- 
where ;  she  does  not  seem  cramped  in  a  crowded  little  cabin, 
or  In  dreary  lodgings ;  and  yet  she  does  not  look  out  of  her 
element  in  that  beautiful  nursery  of  yours,  where  a  dozen 
children  would  have  room  and  to  spare." 


112  DOREEN- 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  I  often  wished  I  had  the  dozen  to  fill  it," 
said  Mrs.  Hereford.  "It  used  to  look  gaunt  and  bare, 
somehow,  when  there  was  only  Max  to  tenant  it.  As  often 
as  we  could  we  had  Miriam  with  us,  but  being  both  only 
children,  they  quarrelled  a  good  deal,  and  it  was  not  always 
a  successful  experiment.  The  servants  have  nothing  but 
praise  for  your  four  little  ones,  —  never  were  such  children, 
according  to  my  housekeeper." 

"Well,  I  think  they  are  all  pretty  good  hands  at  amusiug 
themselves,"  said  Doreen.  "  I  was  a  little  bit  afraid  that 
Hagar  Muchmore,  with  her  brusque,  independent  ways  and 
republican  frankness,  might  not  get  on  very  well,  but  she 
seems  to  have  made  friends  all  round  and  looks  as  happy 
as  a  queen.  Perhaps  her  intense  veneration  for  the  first 
real  ruin  she  has  ever  seen  was  in  her  favour.  The  ruins 
and  the  ivy  seem  quite  to  have  taken  her  breath  away. 
You  see  we  can't  supply  old  priories  in  America,  and  ivy 
does  not  grow  there." 

When  they  had  had  tea.  Max  proposed  that  she  should 
come  out  and  see  the  Priory ;  and  together  they  crossed 
the  smooth,  well-kept  lawn,  and,  skirting  the  side  of  the 
little  lake,  passed  through  the  shrubbery  to  the  park  be- 
yond, where,  in  the  soft  sunset  light,  stood  the  gray  old 
ruin,  with  its  air  of  peaceful  decay,  its  forlorn,  roofless 
walls,  its  graceful  arches  and  fragments  of  delicate  tracery. 
Sheep  were  peacefully  grazing  within  the  dismantled  choir, 
and  birds  flew  homeward  to  their  nests  in  the  thick  ivy 
which  clustered  about  the  pillars. 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  so  enthusiastic  as  Mrs.  Muchmore," 
said  Max,  looking  into  her  face,  which  had  grown  sad  and 
wistful. 

"Euins  are  somehow  depressing,"  she  said.  "Do  you 
remember  the  ruined  Abbey  near  Castle  Karey  ?  I  never 
could  understand  how  your  cousin  could  spend  whole  days 
in  painting  it.  One  can't  help  thinking  of  the  builders  and 
how  all  their  hopes  and  efforts  are  at  an  end ;  failure  seems 
written  over  the  whole  place  in  spite  of  its  loveliness." 


DOREEN-  113 

"  It  shelters  sheep  still,  though  not  the  two-legged  ones  it 
was  intended  for,"  said  Max,  smiling. 

"  Yes ;  but  it  is  much  too  good  for  mere  animals,"  said 
Doreen. 

"  What  would  you  do  with  it  if  it  were  yours  ?  "  he  said. 
"  Some  people  think  I  ought  to  restore  it ;  but  I  am  not 
going  to  be  such  a  fool  as  to  plant  a  huge  church  in  a 
place  where  there  is  not  even  a  village." 

"  I  think,"  she  said  musingly,  "  I  should  turn  it  into 
almshouses  for  old  people,  or  into  a  convalescent  home  for 
Londoners.  You  could  use  the  choir  for  the  chapel.  It 
would  perhaps  spoil  your  view  a  little  from  the  house,  but 
the  building  could  be  low  and  need  not  be  unsightly." 

"I  wonder  what  my  heir  would  say  to  it,"  said  Max. 
"  However,  I  need  not  trouble  much  about  that  thought,  for 
the  property  will  certainly  never  come  to  him." 

"  Why  not  ?     Is  it  only  yours  for  your  lifetime  ?  " 

"It  is  a  curious  thing,"  he  said.  "But  this  property 
never  remains  in  the  same  family  long.  It  may  pass  from 
father  to  son,  but  the  grandson  has  never  been  known  to 
succeed.  I  am  told  it  is  the  case  with  all  estates  that  were 
once  church  property,  and  there  is  a  book  containing  many 
instances  of  the  kind.  I  would  not  like  to  say  that  I  alto- 
gether believe  in  the  legend,  and  yet  it  certainly  seems 
something  more  than  a  mere  coincidence."  Doreen  shiv- 
ered a  little.  At  heart  she  was  superstitious,  and  this  idea 
appealed  to  her  Keltic  imagination. 

"  How  did  it  come  into  your  possession  ?  "  she  asked. 

"The  estate  was  in  the  market.  My  father  bought  it, 
but  died  only  a  year  after  the  purchase.  Do  you  see  that 
old  crone  over  there  picking  up  sticks  ?  She  told  me,  as  a 
child,  all  manner  of  legends  about  the  former  owners.  She 
is  rather  a  character ;  I  should  like  you  to  see  her." 

They  walked  on  towards  a  plantation,  where  a  skinny  old 
woman  was  slowly  tying  up  her  bundle  of  firewood,  with 
many  muttered  ejaculations. 

"  She  looks  like  a  witch,"  said  Doreen. 

I 


114  DOREEN 

"  As  children,  we  used  to  call  her  Goody  Grope,  after  the 
old  woman  in  Miss  Edgeworth's  story;  and  the  name  has 
stuck  to  her  ever  since.  But  she  is  a  worthy  old  body,  and 
full  of  humour  when  you  get  her  in  the  right  mood.  Good 
evening,  Goody;  how  are  you?"  he  exclaimed,  as  the  old 
woman  looked  up  and  caught  sight  of  them.  "This  lady 
comes  from  Ireland,  and  she  wants  to  hear  all  the  stories 
about  Monkton  Verney,  —  all  that  you  used  to  tell  us  long 
ago.     Don't  you  remember  ?  " 

"  Glad  to  see  you  home  again,  sir,"  said  Goody,  curtsey- 
ing to  them  both.  "  The  lady,  I  take  it,  is  of  kin  to  the 
pretty  little  lass  I  saw  up  at  the  house  last  week." 

"I  am  her  sister,"  said  Doreen,  with  her  usual  happy 
pride  in  claiming  kinship  with  Mollie.  "Have  you  been 
telling  your  delightful  tales  to  the  children,  I  wonder? 
There's  nothing  they  would  like  half  so  well ;  they  are  just 
crazy  about  stories." 

"  Bless  their  little  hearts ! "  said  Goody ;  "  there's  many 
a  tale  I  could  tell  them." 

"  But  don't  you  go  telling  them  about  the  ghost,  Goody ; 
I  don't  allow  that  ghost  to  be  talked  about.  He's  part  of 
my  property;  and  now  that  I'm  of  age,  I'll  manage  him 
myself.  You'll  be  scaring  the  children  if  you  tell  them  the 
Priory  is  haunted.  Many's  the  time  as  a  child,  that  I've 
made  myself  go  shivering  to  the  window,  ashamed  to  lie 
quaking  in  bed,  and  have  looked  out  at  the  ruins  to  see  if 
he  was  really  there." 

"And  did  you  ever  see  it?"  said  Doreen,  who,  like 
Minna  Troil,  did  not  believe  in  ghosts,  but  was,  neverthe- 
less, afraid  of  them. 

"  Never,"  he  said,  with  a  mischievous  glance ;  "  but  Goody 
has  often  seen  him ;  you  ask  her." 

"What  is  it  like,  and  where  did  you  see  it?"  asked 
Doreen,  with  an  interest  that  charmed  Goody. 

"  Thrice  have  I  seen  it,  but  never  again  will  I  run  the 
risk ;  for  afterwards  it  makes  a  body  feel  badly  for  weeks 
to  come,"  said  the  old  woman.  "Drains  all  the  strength 
out  of  you,  that  it  does." 


DOREElsr  115 

"  Is  it,  then,  so  dreadful  to  look  at  ?  " 

"No,"  said  the  old  woman,  musingly;  "it's  not  that  it 
is  altogether  horrible  to  see,  but  it's  uncanny  to  look  up  all 
at  once,  as  you  are  crossing  the  park  on  a  moonlight  night, 
and  thinking  of  nothing  in  pa^rticular,  to  be  taken  right 
back  into  the  past,  —  to  see  a  figure  kneeling  there  in  the 
ruins  in  the  old-time  dress,  a  wide  ruffle  about  the  throat  of 
him,  and  a  little  beard  cut  in  a  point,  and  a  cloak  cast  about 
his  shoulders.  You  can  see  his  picture  in  Monkton  Verney 
Hall  now,  and  the  ghost  is  as  like  the  picture  as  eggs  is 
like  eggs." 

"  Is  he  inside  the  Priory  or  outside  ?  " 

"Well,  I  reckon  it  is  where  it  would  have  been  the 
inside,  but  the  outer  wall  being  all  down,  you  can  see  him 
plain  enough  as  you  cross  the  park ;  he  kneels  there  prayin' 
and  prayin'  to  be  forgiven.  Many's  the  night  I've  heard 
his  pitiful  cries,  —  fit  to  make  your  blood  run  cold." 

"A  banshee,  is  it?"  said  Doreen.  "Does  he  foretell 
misfortune  ?  " 

"Owls,"  whispered  Maxj  "I  have  often  seen  them,  and 
heard  them,  too." 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Goody,  not  heeding  the  murmur  of  the 
Sadducee  who  owned  the  ruin.  "Doubtless,  he  foretells 
misfortune ;  there's  always  misfortune  to  them  as  owns  this 
property." 

" Now,  Goody,  put  it  mildly,"  said  Max,  laughing.  "You 
know  there  are  exceptions  to  prove  every  rule.  You  always 
admitted  that  I  might  be  the  happy  exception.  And  if  you 
made  out  such  a  black  case  against  Monkton  Verney,  you 
will  be  frightening  my  guest  away  the  very  day  she  has 
come." 

"  I  always  had  hopes  of  you,  sir,"  said  Goody,  looking  into 
his  blithe,  cheerful  face.  "If  ever  there  was  one  fit  to  reverse 
the  ill-fortune  of  the  place,  —  why  then,  it's  you.  But  it's 
seen  many  a  sad  tale.  There  was  Lord  Royle,  who  got  it 
first  in  King  Henry's  time,  and  turned  out  the  Prior  and 
spoiled  the  church  j  that's  the  one  that  walks,"  she  added, 

i2 


Ii6  DOREEN' 

with  a  glance  at  Doreen.  "He  lived  to  be  an  old  man,  and 
saw  every  one  of  his  children  come  to  a  bad  end.  Then 
there  was  Sir  Peregrine  Blount,  in  King  Charles'  days ;  his 
only  son  was  killed  in  battle.  Next,  the  Lepines  had  the 
place,  and  all  went  well  for  a  time,  and  there  was  two  bonny 
lads  born  to  them ;  but  the  heir  and  his  brother,  they  both 
fell  in  love  with  the  same  lady,  and  they  fought  a  duel 
together,  and  one  was  killed  and  the  other  was  hung  for 
his  murder.  Then  the  Wintons  bought  the  place,  and  did 
well  for  a  bit  till  the  South-Sea  Bubble  burst,  —  I  don't 
rightly  know  where,  but  it  ruined  them  somehow,  and  the 
place  was  in  the  market  again  till  the  Chorleys  took  it ;  and 
they  did  well  and  were  good  to  the  poor,  and  the  father  saw 
no  ill  in  his  time,  nor  the  son  in  his ;  and  men  thought  the 
doom  was  at  an  end.  But  when  the  grandson  came  into  the 
estate,  men  saw  that  the  delay  had  only  made  the  doom  all 
the  worse ;  such  trouble  there  had  never  been  before.  From 
being  a  pleasant  enough  boy,  young  Mr.  Chorley  grew  into 
the  wildest  and  wickedest  man  that  Monkton  Verney  had 
ever  known  for  its  owner.  He  went  to  the  bad,  and  there 
were  shocking  doings,  I've  heard  my  mother  say.  And  one 
night,  when  there  was  a  great  party  of  them  in  the  house, 
drinking  and  gambling,  sudden  destruction  came  upon  them. 
The  master  was  taken  ill,  and  the  next  day  two  of  the  guests 
were  stricken  down.  The  rest  fled,  but  before  the  week  was 
out  Squire  Chorley  was  carried  to  the  churchyard.  After 
that  the  house  stood  empty  many  years,  until  Squire  Here- 
ford bought  it.  There's  a  doom  on  the  place,  —  nobody  can 
deny  that,  though  nowadays  folk  laugh  at  such  things. 
They  can't  get  over  facts;  and  it's  my  hope  that  the  squire 
here  will  be  warned  in  time,  and  give  back  to  the  Almighty 
what  is  His  by  right." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Max,  smiling,  "  I  think  it's  uncom- 
monly hard  that  I  should  be  made  to  suffer  for  the  sins  of 
Lord  Eoyle,  which  took  place  in  1536.  The  place  was 
bought  with  money  which  my  father  had  honourably  earned 
as  a  civil  engineer,  and  why  can't  you  let  me  enjoy  it  in 
peace,  Goody?" 


DOREEN'  117 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head.  "There'll  never  be 
peace  in  Monkton  Verney,"  she  said ;  "  not  lasting  x)eace." 

"  The  same  might  be  said  of  most  houses  in  the  world," 
said  Max,  entirely  unconvinced.  "  Show  me  the  family  that 
in  three  generations  contrives  to  escape  great  and  grievous 
trouble,  and  I  will  believe  your  legend." 

"  Have  ye  heard  the  doom,  miss  ?  "  asked  Goody,  turning 
to  Doreen  for  sympathy,  and  scanning  her  Keltic  face  with 
a  keen  but  appreciative  glance. 

"Oh,  is  there  really  some  rhyme  about  it?"  asked 
Doreen,  eagerly. 

"  Some  beautiful  doggerel ;  but  it  sounds  impressive  when 
Goody  says  it,  specially  in  the  twilight,"  said  Max,  with 
a  mischievous  twinkle  of  fun  in  his  eyes. 

"  The  rhyme  was  found,  miss,  in  the  old  church  register, 
written  in  the  margin  by  the  entry  of  Lord  Royle's  burial," 
said  Goody;  and  in  slow,  measured  accents,  she  repeated 
solemnly  the  following  doom :  — 

"  ♦  Gained  by  fraud. 
No  good  shall  come  ; 
None  shall  find 
A  lasting  home. 
Peace  shall  ne'er 
Be  here  again, 
Till  the  land 
Is  freed  from  stain. 
This  is  Monkton  Vemey*s  doom. 
Lord,  let  Thy  blessed  kingdom  come  1 ' " 

There  was  a  minute's  silence,  then  the  old  woman  picked 
up  her  bundle  of  firewood. 

"  'Tis  getting  late,  sir,  and  the  lady  will  be  taking  cold," 
she  said.     "  I  wish  ye  both  good  evening." 

They  bade  her  a  kindly  farewell,  and  thanked  her  for  the 
story. 

"  Lady  Worthington  will  be  here  to-morrow,  and  she  will 
be  coming  to  see  you  for  certain,  Goody,"  said  Max ;  "  she 
loves  nothing  better  than  to  hear  you  tell  of  the  ghost." 


ii8  DOREEAT 

They  turned  away  and  crossed  the  park  to  the  shrubbery, 
the  old  crone  pausing  more  than  once  to  look  after  them. 

"  Yon's  a  bonny-looking  lady,"  she  said  to  herself ;  "  and 
there's  that  in  her  face  that  might  likely  enough  reverse 
the  doom.  It  would  be  a  fine  thing  if  she  was,  indeed,  to 
bring  peace  to  Monkton  Verney  and  lay  the  ghost.  The 
squire,  he  do  seem  took  with  her,  but  he  be  young  and  a  bit 
headstrong,  and  with  a  temper  that  ill  brooks  contradicting ; 
and  I  reckon  the  lady  herself  is  a  trifle  too  much  of  the 
same  sort  of  temper,  —  holds  her  head  like  a  queen,  she 
doe^." 

"  Isn't  she  a  funny  old  soul  ?  "  said  Max,  as  they  walked 
briskly  home ;  "  I  like  to  see  her  solemn  dark  eyes  grow 
bigger  as  she  says  that  wretched  bit  of  doggerel  which,  to 
her,  is  more  beautiful,  I  am  sure,  than  any  poem  in  the 
world." 

"There  was  something  quite  uncannily  prophetic  about 
her  whole  air  as  she  said  it,"  replied  Doreen,  smiling.  "  And 
yet,  you  know,  there  is  truth  in  the  words,  — 

*  Gained  by  fraud, 
No  good  can  come.' 

Why,  really,  the  whole  rhyme  might  be  applied  to  the  way 
in  which  the  Act  of  Union  was  gained.  It's  a  sort  of  Home 
Kule  song,  and  I  couldn't  help  thinking,  as  she  said  it,  how 
you  English  cheated  and  tricked  us  out  of  our  parliament." 

"  Now,  here  is  fresh  light  on  the  problem,"  said  Max, 
laughing.  "  Lady  Worthington  and  her  sister  are  for  ever 
telling  me  to  restore  the  church,  and  I  tell  them  I  will  wait 
till  the  congregation  is  ready  for  it.  You  think  that  by 
turning  Home  Ruler  I  shall  set  right  this  ancient  wrong." 

"  No,  not  this  one ;  this  is  your  own  private  affair,  and 
the  other  a  national  matter.  I  only  compared  one  with  the 
other." 

"Ah,  yes,  it  was  to  be  almshouses,  or  a  convalescent 
home.  But  I  don't  really  think  it's  fair  that  I  should  suffer 
and  try  to  make  amends  for  somebody  else's  wrong-doing." 


DOREEN  119 

Doreen  turned  and  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  with 
puzzled  eyes. 

"Why,"  she  said,  "I  thought  that  was  exactly  what  w^e 
had  all  promised  to  do.     Isn't  that  following  Christ  ?  " 

She  had  the  usual  Irish  habit  of  speaking  with  the  utmost 
frankness  of  spiritual  things;  in  her  voice  there  was  no 
slightest  change,  no  conventional  tone  of  piety :  there  was 
to  her  no  borderland  between  sacred  and  secular,  and  the 
effect  was  strange  enough  to  startle  an  Englishman.  Some 
would  have  deemed  the  tone  irreverent,  but  to  Max,  after 
the  first  shock  of  surprise,  it  seemed  like  the  unaffected  sin- 
cerity of  a  child;  and  back  into  his  mind  there  flashed  a 
remembrance  of  a  mountain-side,  and  of  a  little  figure  in  a 
red  cloak,  and  of  a  sweet-toned  voice,  ending  the  graphic 
description  of  a  night  of  terror  with  the  words,  "  Afterwards 
God  talked  to  me,  and  it  was  better." 

"Do  you  recollect  that  morning  on  Kilrourk,"  he  said, 
"  when  you  began  to  make  plans  for  the  future  and  fired  me 
with  the  ambition  of  being  a  public  speaker  ?  You  seem  to 
have  the  gift  of  inspiring  people  with  ideals.  Your  scheme 
is  certainly  more  practical  than  Lady  Worthington's,  It 
even  begins  to  make  me  feel  a  little  uncomfortable." 

"  Why  uncomfortable  ?  " 

"Uncomfortable  as  one  feels  in  the  morning  when  the 
bell  rings,  and  you  know  that  before  long  you  must  get  up 
just  when  you  long  to  lie  lazing." 

"  You  are  not  very  complimentary,"  said  Doreen,  laugh- 
ing. "  Never  before  have  I  been  compared  to  anything  so 
disagreeable  as  a  dressing-bell."  Then,  as  they  paused  to 
close  the  gate  leading  into  the  shrubbery,  she  glanced  once 
more  at  the  gray  old  Priory.  "  Do  you  know,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  when  old  Goody  was  saying  that  misfortune  always  fol- 
lowed the  owner  of  Monkton  Verney,  I  couldn't  help  won- 
dering whether  that  had  anything  to  do  with  your  ill-luck 
in  being  present  that  day  on  Lough  Lee,  and  witnessing 
the  struggle  between  Mr.  Desmond  and  —  " 

She  broke  off  suddenly  with  an  involuntary  start,  for  at 


126  DOREEI^ 

that  moment,  as  they  turned  a  sharp  angle  in  the  path 
hedged  in  by  closely  clipped  shrubs,  they  came  suddenly 
upon  Baptiste,  the  French  servant. 

"  Mr.  Stanley  has  called  to  know  if  he  can  speak  to  you, 
sir,"  said  the  man,  speaking,  as  usual,  in  his  native  tongue ; 
for  he  had  proved  singularly  slow  in  acquiring  English,  and 
still  protested  that  he  could  not  understand  it  unless  spoken 
very  slowly. 

"It  is  the  manager  of  our  coffee  tavern,"  said  Max. 
"  What  a  plague  the  fellow  is  to  come  just  now  !  I  suppose 
I  must  go  and  see  him,  and,  perhaps,  you  have  had  as  much 
walking  as  you  care  for." 

"Do  you  think,"  said  Doreen,  with  a  feeling  of  vague 
discomfort,  "that  Baptiste  can  have  heard  what  I  was  talk- 
ing about  ?  We  came  upon  him  so  suddenly,  when  I  never 
dreamt  any  one  was  there." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  he  could  possibly  make  anything  out 
of  such  a  fragment  as  that,  even  if  he  heard  the  words. 
And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  don't  suppose  he  did  hear,  for 
he  is  a  regular  duffer  at  learning  English,  and  knows  little 
more  than  when  he  first  came  to  us.  We  should  not  have 
kept  him,  only  he  is  such  a  handy  fellow,  and  always  gets 
on  with  people." 

"It  was  careless  of  me  to  speak  about  it  at  all,"  said 
Doreen;  "but  I  made  sure  we  were  quite  alone,  and  it  is 
somehow  such  a  relief  to  be  able  to  speak  of  it  now  and 
then." 

At  that  moment  Michael  caught  sight  of  her,  and  came 
running  across  the  lawn,  while  Max,  very  loath  to  attend  to 
business,  went  in  to  interview  the  manager  of  the  coffee 
tavern. 

Baptiste,  in  the  mean  time,  had  retired  to  his  room  in  the 
servants'  wing,  and,  unlocking  a  desk,  had  drawn  forth  a 
shabby  little  note-book.  Sitting  down  by  the  window  to 
catch  the  fading  light,  he  made  the  following  entry  in 
French :  — 

"To-day  the    18th  April,   being   five    years   and   eight 


DOREEAT  121 

months  from  the  time  of  Mr.  Foxell's  disappearance,  I 
travelled  down  from  London  to  Monk  ton  Verney  with  my 
master,  Mrs.  Hereford,  and  a  young  Irish  lady,  Miss  Doreen 
O'Ryan,  now  becoming  noted  as  a  public  singer.  Heard 
much  talk  about  this  lady's  childhood,  she  being  a  daughter 
of  one  concerned  in  the  Fenian  rising  some  years  ago.  She 
was  also  staying  near  Castle  Karey  at  the  time  of  Mr. 
Foxell's  death,  and  accompanied  my  master  and  Mr.  Des- 
mond on  the  18th  August  on  an  expedition  to  Lough  Lee, 
as  before  mentioned  in  my  journal.  Taking  a  message  to 
my  master  late  this  afternoon,  I  heard  him  closing  the 
shrubbery  gate,  and  paused  behind  a  bush  in  hopes  of  over- 
hearing their  talk;  was  fortunate  enough  to  hear  Miss 
O'Ryan  use  the  following  noteworthy  words,  ^  Your  ill-luck 
in  being  present  that  day  at  Lough  Lee,  and  witnessing  the 
struggle  between  Mr.  Desmond  and  — ' 

"Compared  with  Mr.  Desmond's  words  let   fall  during 
delirium,  I  am  in  hopes  that  at  length  we  have  the  clue." 


CHAPTER  XL 

"Not  perfect,  nay,  but  full  of  tender  wants, 
No  angel,  but  a  dearer  being,  all  dipt 
In  angel  instincts,  breathing  Paradise, 
Interpreter  between  the  gods  and  men." 

The  Princess. 

DoREEN  was  so  happy  that  first  day  at  Monkton  Verney, 
that  she  was  almost  inclined  to  regret  the  advent  of  other 
guests,  and  inhospitably  wished  General  Hereford  had  not 
seen  fit  to  ride  over  from  the  camp  in  time  for  lunch.  He 
came,  bringing  with  him  an  atmosphere  that  somehow  was 
uncongenial  to  her,  and  she  could  scarcely  help  smiling 
when  Dermot  drew  her  confidentially  apart  as  soon  as  the 
meal  was  over,  and  in  the  softest  of  voices,  asked,  "Is 
that  Mr.  Worldly  Wiseman  ?     He's  so  awfully  like  him." 

"  Why,  Dermot,  what  a  goose  you  are,"  said  Michael,  re- 
provingly. "  He  always  seems  to  be  thinking  that  he  sees 
people  out  of  books  !  The  other  day,  when  we  were  in  Fir- 
dale,  there  was  a  circus  passing  through  the  town,  and  on 
one  of  the  cars  there  were  two  lions  in  a  cage  and  the  tamer 
in  with  them,  and  Dermot  shouted  out,  ^  Look,  look !  there's 
Daniel  in  the  lions'  den  ! '  " 

Doreen  laughed ;  but  she  thought  Dermot  had  very  accu- 
rately hit  upon  a  likeness  for  General  Hereford,  though  she 
could  hardly  have  defined  what  it  was  about  him  that  she  dis- 
liked. He  carried  off  Max  to  the  smoking-room,  so  that  she 
had  plenty  of  time  to  muse  over  her  somewhat  uncomforta- 
ble first  impressions,  and  Mrs.  Hereford  presently  proposed 

122 


DOREEAT  123 

a  drive,  relapsing  before  they  had  ended  the  first  mile  into 
a  gentle  doze,  and  leaving  her  companion  to  the  enjoyment 
of  the  scenery  and  of  her  own  thoughts. 

"I  wish  he  had  not  come,"  she  said  to  herself.  "He 
seems  to  be  for  ever  sitting  in  judgment  upon  everything  and 
everybody,  and  he  patronizes  Max,  —  how  hateful  it  is  to  see 
any  one  patronize  him !  To  be  sure,  he  was  once  his  guardian, 
and,  perhaps,  it  is  the  remains  of  the  old  manner  in  which 
he  treated  him  as  a  boy,  —  but  that  he,  of  all  men,  should 
dare  to  do  it !  A  man  so  inferior  in  every  way,  so  shallow 
and  selfish  and  conventional,  one  of  the  coldly  censorious 
people  that  can  never  be  stirred  up  into  an  honest  enthusi- 
asm over  anything.  I  detest  him,  and  I  am  sure  he  detests 
me." 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Hereford  awoke,  refreshed  by  her 
nap,  and  not  in  the  least  imagining  that  she  had  really 
slept.  She  began  to  tell  of  the  Worthingtons,  of  their  chil- 
dren, of  Sir  Henry's  kindness  to  Max,  and  of  the  help  he 
had  always  been  to  her. 

"  They  are  our  oldest  friends,"  she  said.  "  Katharine  and 
I  were  at  school  together  as  girls,  and  Sir  Henry  was  a  col- 
lege friend  of  my  husband's.  What  they  were  to  me  at  the 
time  of  my  husband's  death,  I  can  never  tell  you ;  and  all 
through  the  difficulties  of  later  years  when  I  so  greatly 
needed  advice,  there  has  always  been  Sir  Henry  to  turn  to. 
In  many  ways  he  was  more  truly  my  son's  guardian  than 
General  Hereford,  and  Max,  though  not  at  all  agreeing  with 
many  of  his  views,  has  the  most  profound  veneration  for 
him." 

"Did  I  not  hear  that  Lady  Worthington  was  Irish?" 
said  Doreen. 

"  Yes,  but  not  of  your  persuasion,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford, 
smiling.  "  Still,  I  think  you  will  like  each  other,  —  I  feel 
certain  of  it;  Lady  Worthington  takes  strong  likes  and 
dislikes  :  but  I  shall  be  greatly  surprised  if  you  two  do  not 
quite  fall  in  love  with  each  other." 

The  surmise  proved  correct  j   for  Doreen  instantly  felt 


124  DOREEN 

a  sense  of  kinship  with  the  tall,  graceful,  bright-eyed 
Irish  woman,  whose  rapid  movements  and  rapid  talk,  and 
keen,  quick  glances,  were  so  full  of  animation  and  vitality 
that  she  seemed  younger  at  fifty  than  many  women  at  thirty. 
Max  watched  a  little  anxiously,  to  see  what  her  impression 
of  Doreen  would  be,  for  he  knew  from  experience  that  if 
she  happened  to  take  a  dislike  to  any  one,  she  would  take 
small  pains  to  conceal  it ;  he  knew  that  Lady  Worthington 
had  heard  from  his  mother  of  Doreen's  history  and  parent- 
age, and  though  well  aware  that  politics  would,  as  usual, 
be  a  tabooed  subject  during  the  Worthingtons'  visit,  he  was 
a  little  afraid  that  she  might  start  with  a  prejudice  against 
Patrick  O'Ryan's  daughter. 

But  Lady  Worthington,  who  had  protested  to  her  hus- 
band all  the  way  from  the  station  on  the  folly  of  Mrs. 
Hereford  in  humouring  her  son's  admiration  for  the  penni- 
less daughter  of  a  Fenian,  was  fairly  caught  and  enthralled 
the  very  moment  the  girl  was  introduced  to  her.  For 
about  Doreen  there  certainly  was  a  curious  power  of  fas- 
cination ;  perhaps  it  lay  in  that  frank  sincerity  which  had 
so  charmed  Mrs.  Hereford,  that  genuine  goodness  of  a 
nature  without  guile ;  or  again,  it  might  have  been  in  the 
unquenchable  brightness  of  spirit,  the  mirthfulness  which 
sorrow  and  care  were  powerless  to  crush.  But  it  was  a 
fascination  which  few  could  resist,  and  it  appealed  to  what 
was  highest  in  others,  not  merely  to  their  sensuous  nature. 

A  very  merry  and  cheerful  dinner  ensued,  and  Doreen's 
heart  was  entirely  won  over  when,  afterwards,  Lady  Worth- 
ington begged  to  see  little  Bride,  and  went  up  with  her  to 
the  night  nursery  to  visit  the  children  in  bed.  She  had 
three  children  of  her  own  and  seemed  to  have  endless 
experience  of  all  childish  ailments. 

"  They  are  careful  comforts,  my  dear,''  she  said.  "  But 
very  real  comforts  for  all  that,  and  I  don't  think  I  ever 
saw  a  more  charming  little  quartette  than  yours." 

To  Doreen,  who  was  quite  as  proud  of  her  children  as 
though  she  had  been  their  n^other,  this  in  itself  was  enough 


DOREEISr  125 

to  stamp  Lady  Worthington  as  a  delightful  and  discerning 
person.  She  was  amused  to  see  Michael's  knight-like 
devotion  to  her,  and  made  Max  laugh  by  telling  him  of  the 
boy's  comments. 

"  He  thinks  Lady  Worthington  must  be  the  most  beauti- 
ful lady  in  England.  ^  I  thought '  he  said,  ^  that  people  with 
titles  like  that  would  be  horrid  and  pom  pious,  but  she  is  not 
the  least  bit  pompious,  —  she's  less  so  than  other  people, 
not  more.'  IMichael  is  never  so  funny  as  when  he  gets  hold 
of  a  long  word  and  pronounces  it  in  a  way  of  his  own ;  in 
one  of  his  letters  he  assured  me  that  the  Priory  was  very 
capricious  from  the  drawing-room  windows.'' 

"I  shall  call  him  Mr.  Malaprop,"  said  Max,  laughing. 
"  But  by  the  bye,  that  reminds  me  that  your  Convalescent 
Home  would  also  be  very  conspicuous  from  the  drawing- 
room,  and  not  after  such  a  pleasing  fashion."  He  turned 
to  Lady  Worthington,  and  asked  her  what  she  thought  of 
the  idea. 

"'Tis  the  most  sensible  notion  I  have  yet  heard,"  she 
said,  "  and  Miss  O'Kyan,  as  the  originator,  ought  to  lay  the 
foundation  stone." 

"  But  what  will  the  artists  say  to  our  spoiling  the  ruins  ? 
My  cousin,  Claude  Magnay,  will  call  me  a  Goth." 

**  He  may  grumble,  but  his  sensible  little  wife  will  soon 
make  him  see  reason.  They  have  just  returned  to  London ; 
I  travelled  down  with  them  from  Eilchester  yesterday." 

"  Is  he  all  right  again  ?  " 

"I  doubt  if  he  will  ever  be  quite  as  strong  as  he  was 
before  the  accident,"  said  Lady  Worthington,  "  but  he  is  so 
far  recovered  that  he  can  begin  to  work  again.  It  has  been 
a  wonderful  recovery,  and  they  are  as  happy  as  their  own 
two  babies." 

They  relapsed  into  talk  about  Eilchester,  and  Max  and 
Doreen  wandered  off  to  the  other  end  of  the  drawing-room, 
where,  between  talking  and  singing,  the  time  passed  only 
too  quickly. 

The  days  that  followed  were  to  Doreen  more  like  a  d^U- 


126  DOREEAT 

cious  dream  than  a  bit  of  real  life.  After  those  weary- 
months  of  sorrow  and  anxiety,  after  all  the  illness  and 
suffering  she  had  had  to  witness,  after  the  torturing  sense 
of  poverty  and  helplessness,  this  easy  life  in  the  country 
house  was  the  perfection  of  rest.  She  seemed  able  to  live 
only  in  the  present;  neither  the  griefs  of  the  past  nor 
the  cares  of  the  future  oppressed  her,  while  each  day  deep- 
ened within  her  a  happy  consciousness  that  she  and  Max 
Hereford  somehow  belonged  to  each  other. 

On  the  last  afternoon  of  their  visit,  it  had  been  ar- 
ranged that  they  should  go  up  a  well-known  hill  close 
by,  called  Kooksbury  ;  an  expedition  which  the  elders  of  the 
party  entirely  declined,  for  Rooksbury  was  steep,  and  there 
was  no  winding  path  by  which  it  could  be  easily  scaled. 
Lady  Worthington  preferred  to  drive  with  Mrs.  Hereford, 
Sir  Henry  and  the  General  rode  over  to  the  camp,  and  the 
children,  to  their  great  satisfaction,  found  that  only  Max 
and  Doreen  were  to  accompany  them.  The  fir  woods  which 
clothed  the  hill  rang  with  the  merry  voices  of  the 
climbers,  as  they  toiled  up  over  the  bare  ground,  slippery 
with  fir  needles.  At  the  summit,  upon  the  further  side, 
looking  away  from  Monkton  Verney  over  a  wide  stretch  of 
heath-covered,  undulating  ground,  there  stood  a  crooked 
hawthorn,  known  as  the  wishing-tree ;  and  here  Max  in- 
sisted that  they  must  all  register  a  secret  wish,  solemnly 
walking  three  times  round  the  bush,  —  a  proceeding  which 
enchanted  the  children.  This  ceremony  over,  the  two  boys 
went  to  the  more  sheer  and  slippery  part  of  the  hill  to  enjoy 
the  delight  of  incessant  running  up  and  down,  and  Max 
found  a  sheltered  nook  for  Doreen,  where  she  could  watch 
Mollie  at  a  little  distance  searching  for  daisies  in  the  grass 
near  the  wishing-tree. 

"  How  strong  I  ought  to  be  for  all  the  work  that  is  com- 
ing," said  Doreen,  "  after  this  heavenly  rest.  It  is  odd,  but 
do  you  know,  being  here  has  made  me  feel  years  younger." 

"  I  hate  the  thought  of  your  going  back  to  that  struggling 
Uf ^  I "  h^  exclaimed  impetuously.     "  Poreen,  why  must  you 


DOREEN'  127 

go  at  all,  —  why  not  make  this  your  home  ?  You  know  — 
you  must  know  —  that  I  love  you!  Come  and  help  me  to 
reverse  the  doom  on  the  old  place.  I  love  you,  dearest,  — 
I  love  you !  be  my  wife,  and  help  me  to  keep  the  promise 
to  work  for  Ireland ! " 

Doreen  did  not  speak;  but  neither  did  she  resist  him 
when  he  took  her  hand  in  his,  and  held  it  closely.  The 
light  in  her  blue  eyes  was  reassuring;  he  remembered 
how  as  a  child,  when  wakened  by  him  on  the  mountain, 
she  had  looked  up  at  him  with  glad  recognition,  almost 
embarrassing  him  with  her  frank,  "  I  was  dreaming  of  you." 

There  was  a  newly  awakened  look  about  her  eyes  now ; 
but  it  was  a  thousand  times  more  beautiful.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  all  her  soul  looked  out  of  them,  recognizing  and 
claiming  his.  At  last  she  spoke  reflectively,  —  almost 
sadly. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said,  glancing  towards  little  Mollie, 
"  whether  I  ought  to  let  you  wait  for  me.  Even  if  I  suc- 
ceed as  a  singer,  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  think  of 
marrying  for  the  next  live  or  six  years." 

"  You  are  thinking  of  the  children,  and  of  providing  for 
them,"  he  said ;  "  but  surely  you  know  that  they  would  be 
to  me  like  my  own  brothers  and  sisters.  We  could  make 
them  very  happy  at  Monkton  Verney,  —  you  see,  already 
they  love  the  place." 

She  put  her  other  hand  upon  his  with  a  little,  tender 
caress. 

"Max,"  she  said,  speaking  his  name  for  the  first  time, 
half  shyly,  "  you  know  that  I  love  you,  and  you  must  not 
misunderstand  and  think  me  proud  or  ungrateful,  but  I 
cannot  let  you  marry  the  whole  family  like  that,  —  I  really 
cannot.  It  is  right  that  I  should  use  my  one  talent ;  I  am 
not  going  to  hide  it  in  the  earth  and  just  be  idle." 

He  sighed ;  but  he  had  known  beforehand  that  she  would 
never  consent  to  abandon  her  profession.  She  would  not 
have  been  the  girl  whom  he  lov^d  and  reverenced^  had  sh^ 
done  so. 


128  DOREEN 

"  I  will  wait,"  he  said.  "  My  father  himself  was  engaged 
seven  years,  and  married  but  one.  The  doom  will  surely 
not  be  cruel  for  two  generations." 

Doreen's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

*'  Oh,  Max,"  she  said,  ^'  I  cannot  let  you  pledge  yourself 
to  me  like  that;  it  is  not  fair  to  you.  There  shall  be  no 
engagement  between  us ;  but  if  five  years  hence  you  are 
still  in  the  same  mind,  —  why,  then,  you  can  tell  me." 

Max  vehemently  protested  against  such  an  arrangement, 
but  Doreen  was  firm. 

"Indeed,  it  will  be  best  so,"  she  pleaded;  "it  would 
never  do  for  the  engagement  to  be  publicly  announced  now ; 
it  might  hamper  you  in  your  political  life,  —  it  might  even 
make  my  career  more  difficult  and  tedious.  Besides,  I 
should  feel  all  the  time  that  I  was  perhaps  doing  you  harm. 
You  might  meet  some  one  in  your  own  set  who  would  make 
you  a  far  better  wife ;  and  then,  if  you  were  really  betrothed 
to  me  — !  No,  no ;  I  cannot  let  that  be !  Let  us  wait ;  we 
can  meet  often  as  friends,  and  no  one  save  your  mother 
need  know  that  we  understand  each  other." 

"  And  your  aunt ;  she  ought  to  know,"  said  Max,  certain 
that  he  should  never  get  upon  a  comfortable  footing  in 
Bernard  Street  unless  Mrs.  Garth  were  taken  into  con- 
fidence. 

"  Yes ;  you  are  right,"  said  Doreen ;  "  and  auntie  will  be 
a  very  safe  person.  She  will  not  talk  us  over  with  her 
friends." 

"  And  in  four  years  I  may  speak  again,"  said  Max,  boldly 
cutting  off  a  whole  year  from  the  time  she  had  stated. 

She  assented,  and  began  to  speak  of  all  the  work  that 
would  make  the  time  pass  quickly.  And  Max,  being  quite 
certain  of  her  love  and  of  his  own  constancy,  prepared  to 
face  the  waiting-time  with  a  certain  brave  cheerfulness 
which  characterized  him. 

"  We  will  make  a  compact  that  four  years  hence  we  will 
climb  Kooksbury  again  together,  and  —  and  manage  things 
b^tter^"  he  said,  smiling ;   "  but  who  knows  that  when  you 


DOREEU  129 

are  a  great  prima  donna^  and  I,  perhaps,  an  unsuccessful 
candidate  for  Firdale,  that  you  will  not  throw  me  over  ?  " 

"  How  can  you  say  such  things!  "  she  cried  j  ''you  know 
well  enough  that  I  shall  not  change." 

"Very  well;  I  will  take  your  word  for  it,"  he  said, 
smiling.  "  The  plan  we  made  long  ago  as  we  climbed  Kil- 
rourk  is  in  a  fair  way  to  be  fulfilled ;  now  let  us  seal  our 
promise  as  we  did  that  very  different  promise  in  the  Castle 
Karey  fernery." 

But  the  kiss  was  to  each  of  them  as  unlike  that  former 
one  as  the  promise  itself  was  unlike  that  unwelcome  pledge 
of  secrecy.  In  the  strength  of  the  love  which  it  symbo- 
lized, Doreen  felt  that  she  could  face  her  four  years  of  wait- 
ing and  working,  and  her  face  was  so  transfigured  with  joy 
that  even  Michael  noticed  it,  and  wondered. 

"  We  have  had  such  a  jolly  time  on  the  other  side ! "  he 
exclaimed.     "  Why  didn't  you  come  there  and  watch  us  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Doreen,  readily,  "  the  sun  was  on  this  side." 

"  How  it  does  seem  to  shine  on  your  face,"  said  the  boy. 
"  I  never  knew  before,  Doreen,  that  you  were  pretty." 

"  For  which  frankly  fraternal  speech  you  shall  be  chased 
down  Rooksbury,"  said  Doreen,  laughing ;  and,  having  sepn 
that  Max  had  taken  charge  of  Mollie,  she  bounded  down 
the  hillside,  her  feet  flying  over  the  steep,  slippery  ground, 
as  she  sprang  from  one  tall,  straight  trunk  to  another,  being 
well  aware  that  those  who  try  to  walk  down  a  fir  hill  gener- 
ally come  to  grief. 

Max,  with  little  Mollie  on  his  back,  paused  at  the  top 
to  watch  her  lithe  figure  in  its  swift  descent.  Who  would 
have  thought  that  this  was  the  singer  who  had  held  thou- 
sands in  rapt  attention  at  the  Albert  Hall  such  a  little  while 
ago !  and  who  would  dream  that  this  girl  of  eighteen  had 
all  the  care  and  responsibility  of  a  family  of  four  brothers 
and  sisters  to  whom  she  must  be  guardian  and  breadwinner ! 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  If  then  thou  dost  not  make  use  of  the  shield  of  patience,  thou 
shalt  not  be  long  without  wounds." 

Thomas  A  Kempis. 

"I  HAVE  come  to  confession,"  said  Max  that  night  as, 
according  to  his  invariable  custom,  he  looked  in  the  last 
thing  to  bid  his  mother  good  night  on  the  way  to  his  own 
room. 

The  maid  had  gone,  and  Mrs.  Hereford  in  the  prettiest 
of  dressing-gowns  sat  beside  the  fire,  reading.  The  sun- 
shine of  late  April  might  be  pleasant  enough  in  the  day- 
time, even  on  the  heights  of  Rooksbury,  but  the  nights 
were  still  chilly,  and  in  her  large,  lonely  room  she  liked 
a  fire  for  company.  The  large,  old-fashioned  sofa  stood  at 
right  angles  with  the  hearth.  Max  sat  down  in  his  usual 
place  beside  her;  in  his  well-opened  eyes  there  was  a 
curious  mixture  of  gravity  and  subdued  triumph. 

"  I  am  a  rejected  lover,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"Your  looks  belie  you,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford,  glancing 
with  motherly  pride  and  love  at  the  comely  face,  and  think- 
ing within  herself  that  he  need  not  greatly  fear  rejection. 

"Nevertheless,  I'm  speaking  the  strict  truth,"  said  Max, 
sighing  a  little.  And  by  degrees  he  told  her  what  had 
passed  that  afternoon. 

"  I  know  what  you  will  say,"  he  concluded.  "  You  will 
say  it  is  the  best  thing  that  could  have  befallen  a  fellow 
who  has  all  his  life  been  spoilt  and  indulged,  and  had 
exactly  what  he  wished  the  moment  he  craved  for  it." 

130 


DOREEN-  131 

"Well,  dear,"  she  said,  "I  am  sorry  for  you,  but  I  really 
do  think  this  waiting-time  will  do  you  no  harm.  I  suppose 
some  people  would  say  that  you  ought  not  to  have  proix)sed 
to  her  while  she  was  staying  here,  but  I  can't  regret  it;  it 
is  far  better  that  you  should  understand  each  other." 

"  Far  better  if  she  would  consent  to  a  real  engagement, 
to  my  way  of  thinking,"  said  Max.  "  However,  it  is  of  no 
use;  she  will  not  hear  of  it.  Seems  to  think  it  might  be 
hard  on  me,  or  a  hindrance,  and  was  ready  with  all  sorts  of 
prudent  considerations  that  I  should  never  have  thought 
likely  to  cross  the  mind  of  a  girl  of  her  age." 

"  She  has  seen  many  sides  of  life,  and  has  been  forced  to 
think  for  herself.  That  she  should  dwell  so  much  on  your 
side  of  the  question  shows  how  much  she  loves  you, 
and  that  she  is  no  mere  weak,  impulsive  girl,  but  a  true 
woman." 

"Ah,  Miittei'chen ! "  he  said,  using  the  tender  German 
term  of  endearment  which  he  had  learnt  as  a  child,  "  what 
a  mercy  it  is  I  belong  to  you,  and  not  to  a  mother  like 
Aunt  Rachel,  who  would  expect  me  to  marry  money  and  a 
title." 

"  Of  money  you  already  have  enough,"  she  replied,  smil- 
ing ;  "  and  I  would  much  prefer  your  marrying  Doreen 
O'Ryan,  with  her  sweet  nature  and  her  lovely  voice,  to 
your  marrying  into  the  most  aristocratic  of  families.  But 
indeed  you  wrong  Aunt  Eachel.  Though  she  is  anxious  to 
see  Miriam  well  married,  I  don't  think  she  covets  a  title  for 
her.  Indeed,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  have  always  been  a  little 
afraid  that  she  wished  you  to  be  her  future  son-in-law." 

"Heaven  forfend!"  said  Max.  "Miriam  and  I  shall 
always  be  good  friends,  but  nothing  more.  There  is  hardly 
a  single  subject  we  agree  upon ;  we  should  indeed  make  a 
quarrelsome  couple." 

There  was  a  minute's  silence.  Mrs.  Hereford,  thankful 
as  she  was  to  think  that  Miriam  would  not  be  her  daughter- 
in-law,  could  not  but  realize  that  in  marrying  Doreen 
O'Ryan  there  might  be  sundry  difficulties  and  discomforts 

k2 


132  DOREEN 

which  Max  could  hardly  yet  realize.  That  the  two  would 
b3  very  likely  to  disagree  as  to  future  arrangements  she 
quite  foresaw. 

"Do  you  think,"  she  said,  "that  such  an  artiste  as 
Doreen  would  ever  be  willing  to  retire  from  public  life  at 
the  end  of  four  or  five  years  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  will  be  time  enough  to  think  of  that  later  on," 
said  Max,  easily.  "  I  daresay  by  that  time  she  will  be  sick 
of  all  the  drudgery,  and  glad  enough  of  rest  and  peace." 

"  I  don't  think  she  accounts  it  drudgery." 

"But  in  time  it  must  become  so.  Think  of  the  sheer 
hard  work  of  the  travelling;  and  then  the  excitement,  the 
jealousies,  and  the  criticisms,  the  wearing  anxiety,  the 
galling  sense  of  living  in  the  fierce  light  of  public  life! 
Oh,  how  I  hate  the  thought  of  it  all  for  her ! " 

"  I  think  you  scarcely  realize  how  sacred  her  calling  is 
to  her,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford.  "I  have  been  very  much 
struck  with  the  way  in  which  she  regards  it  as  a  sort  of 
divine  mission." 

"I  see  she  has  lent  you  her  favourite  American  poet," 
said  Max,  taking  up  the  volume  which  Mrs.  Hereford  had 
been  reading  when  he  entered.  "  I  tell  her  it  is  a  contra- 
diction in  terms  for  a  public  singer  to  be  devoted  to  a 
Quaker." 

"I  fancy  she  owes  a  great  deal  to  the  gospel  according 
to  Whittier,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford.  "You  will  never  per- 
suade her  that  Browning  is  the  only  poet  in  the  world,  and 
Mark  Shrewsbury  the  only  novelist.  She  has  much  more 
catholic  tastes  than  you  have,  and  will  see  the  best  points 
of  many  rather  than  the  supreme  excellence  of  one.  To 
me  her  great  charm  lies  in  that  readiness  to  perceive  beauty 
in  everything.  There  are  some  lovely  thoughts  in  this 
^  Andrew  Rykman's  Prayer,'  which  I  was  reading." 

Max  did  not  care  for  Whittier,  but  the  sight  of  Doreen's 
pencilled  line  in  the  margin  made  him  read  the  following 
passage :  — 


DOREEN-  133 

"  Thou,  O  Elder  Brother  !  who 
In  Thy  flesh  our  trial  knew  ; 
Thou,  who  hast  been  touched  by  these, 
Our  most  sad  infirmities ; 
Thou  alone  the  gulf  canst  span 
In  the  dual  heart  of  man, 
And  between  the  soul  and  sense 
Reconcile  all  difference  ; 
Change  the  dream  of  me  and  mine 
For  the  truth  of  Thee  and  Thine, 
And,  through  chaos,  doubt,  and  strife, 
Interfuse  Thy  calm  of  life  ; 

Make  my  mortal  dreams  come  true 
With  the  work  I  fain  would  do ; 
Let  me  find  in  Thy  employ 
Peace  that  dearer  is  than  joy  ; 
Out  of  self  to  love  be  led, 
And  to  heaven  acclimated, 
Until  all  things  sweet  and  good 
Seem  my  natural  habitude." 


"It  must  be  his  straightforward  simplicity  that  she 
likes,"  he  said,  putting  down  the  book ;  "  that  and  his 
practical  way  of  looking  at  spiritual  things.  What  shall 
you  say,  mother,  if  I  really  try  to  make  something  of  this 
notion  for  putting  the  old  Priory  to  use  ?  " 

"  I  shall  say  it  is  a  capital  plan,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford ; 
"  and  the  arranging  will  be  a  very  good  thing  for  you  dur- 
ing your  waiting-time.  But  you  could  not  build  it  in  a  day ; 
it  would  need  a  good  deal  of  thought  and  care." 

"  Yes,  and  some  retrenchment,"  said  Max.  "  But  I  shall 
not  mind  that ;  it  will  make  my  life  a  little  more  like  hers. 
There  are  several  expenses  which  we  might  cut  down." 

"  Yes,"  assented  his  mother,  restraining  a  smile  ;  for  Max, 
though  not  exactly  extravagant,  had  a  way  of  letting  money 
slip  through  his  lingers,  and  the  thought  of  his  practising 
economy  seemed  somehow  incongruous.  But  he  was  abso- 
lutely in  earnest,  and  as  he  bade  her  good  night  his  mind 
was  full  of  schemes  for  the  future. 


134  DOREEN' 

As  he  entered  his  room,  Baptiste  turned  the  lamp  a  little 
higher,  adjusted  the  shade,  and  inquired  whether  his  master 
needed  anything  further. 

"Nothing  more,"  replied  Max.  "Call  me  at  seven  to- 
morrow morning." 

"  I  will  get  up  early,"  he  thought,  "and  run  through  those 
accounts  before  breakfast.  And  talking  of  retrenchment,  I 
might  just  as  well  do  without  Baptiste.  He  is  a  handy 
fellow,  and  I  shall  miss  him,  but  after  all  —  after  all  —  " 

The  thought  was  never  completed,  for  as  usual  his  head 
had  hardly  touched  the  pillow  before  he  was  asleep,  and  the 
next  thing  he  knew  was  that  a  clear  and  unwelcome  voice 
was  endeavouring  to  rouse  him. 

^^ Monsieur !  Monsieur!"  said  Baptiste,  with  peremptory 
firmness.  Then,  as  Max  muttered  some  rejoinder,  he  in- 
stantly relapsed  into  his  usual  tone  of  humble  deference. 

"  A  fine  morning,  Monsieur,  and  the  clock  has  just  struck 
seven." 

Max  gave  just  a  sufficient  indication  that  he  was  awake 
to  induce  his  tormentor  ta  leave  the  room.  Then,  with  a 
portentous  yawn  let  his  eyelids  close  once  more. 

"After  all,"  he  said  to  himself,  drowsily,  "one  would 
make  but  a  poor  hand  at  accounts  before  breakfast.  I  will 
think  matters  over  here,  instead.  Baptiste  shall  go,  and  — 
and  —  " 

Here  he  relapsed  again  into  a  delicious  sleep,  from  which 
he  was  only  roused  by  the  ringing  of  the  eight  o'clock 
dressing-bell. 

"  It  is  Doreen's  last  day  here,"  he  reflected  drearily,  and 
came  down  to  breakfast  feeling  disgusted  with  himself  and 
with  life  in  general. 

Doreen,  however,  was  one  of  those  people  who  wake  with 
a  buoyant  sense  of  strength  and  a  conscious  delight  in 
being  alive.  The  morning  was  invariably  her  best  working 
time,  and  this  particular  spring  morning  when,  for  the  first 
time,  she  had  awaked  to  the  remembrance  that  Max  loved 
her,  was  one  of  the  red-letter  days  of  her  life.     Her  bright 


DOREEN'  135 

face  and  merry  talk  seemed  to  bring  sunshine  into  all  hearts, 
and  when,  after  breakfast,  she  went  away  to  superintend 
the  packing,  she  seemed  to  leave  an  extraordinary  blank 
behind  her. 

"  I  would  almost  as  soon  hear  that  girl  talk  as  sing,"  said 
Lady  Worthington  ;  "  her  voice  in  speaking  has  something 
absolutely  bewitching  in  it." 

"  She  must  not  waste  her  last  country  morning  over  pack- 
ing," said  Mrs.  Hereford.  "  I  will  send  Harding  to  do  it 
for  her,  and  persuade  her  to  go  out." 

Going  upstairs,  she  knocked  at  Doreen's  door,  catching,  as 
she  did  so,  the  familiar  strains  of  — 

"  *Tis  the  most  distressful  country  that  ever  yet  was  seen, 
And  they're  hanging  men  and  women  there  for  wearing  of  the  green." 

Doreen,  on  catching  sight  of  her,  apologized  for  making 
such  a  noise. 

"  I  get  into  the  way  of  singing  to  the  children  up  in  my 
bedroom,"  she  explained.  "  One  or  other  of  them  generally 
comes  to  be  my  page  or  my  maid." 

"  I  want  you  to  let  Harding  finish  the  packing  for  you," 
said  Mrs.  Hereford,  taking  little  Bride  on  her  knee,  and 
looking  with  motherly  eyes  at  the  sweet,  bright  face  of  the 
girl  Max  loved. 

"  Thank  you,  but  it  is  really  almost  done,"  said  Doreen. 
"  I  woke  very  early  and  was  too  happy  to  go  to  sleep  again, 
and  the  dew  was  so  heavy  that  I  was  afraid  to  risk  going 
out,  though  it  looked  just  like  paradise.  I  have  grown  so 
to  love  this  view." 

"  My  dear,  it  makes  me  very  happy,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford, 
"to  think  that  some  day  in  the  future  you  will  make  this 
indeed  your  home.  Max  has  told  me  that  you  understand 
each  other,  and  have  agreed  to  wait." 

"  I  hope,"  said  Doreen,  earnestly,  "  that  you  do  not  think 
I  did  wrong  in  what  I  said.  Indeed,  it  seemed  to  me  tlie 
only  right  way.  Had  I  loved  him  less,  I  might  have  con- 
sented to  an  engagement." 


136  DOREEAT 

"I  think  I  understand  you,  dear/'  said  Mrs.  Hereford. 
"  And  I  believe  you  are  right.  The  four  years  will  not  be 
idle  to  either  of  you,  and  you  are  both  young." 

She  could  not  help  reflecting  that  not  one  girl  in  a  hun- 
dred would  have  allowed  the  heir  of  Monkton  Verney  to 
remain  absolutely  free  and  unbound,  dreading  lest  an  en- 
gagement should  in  any  way  thwart  his  prospects  or  mar 
his  life. 

"There  is  only  one  thing,"  said  Doreen,  "that  troubles 
me  a  little.  And  that  is  that  later  on,  even  if  I  have  a 
very  great  success,  there  will  certainly  be  many  of  your 
friends  and  relatives  who  will  think  it  a  very  strange  and 
unfitting  marriage.  General  Hereford,  for  instance,  regards 
professional  people  as  of  quite  another  order ;  and  I  do  not 
think  he  will  at  all  approve  of  me  as  a  niece,  though,  of 
course,  as  a  guest  in  your  house  he  has  been  very  pleasant 
to  me." 

"  There  never  yet  was  a  marriage  that  pleased  an  entire 
family,  including  all  the  uncles  and  aunts,"  said  Mrs.  Here- 
ford, laughing.  "  And  one  thing  I  may  safely  promise  you, 
my  dear ;  you  will  have  a  mother-in-law  who  loves  you  very 
dearly,  and  will  not  be  always  seeking  to  interfere." 

Doreen,  charmed  with  the  words  and  the  look  which  ac- 
companied them,  threw  her  arms  about  Mrs.  Hereford's 
neck.  A  few  months  ago  she  had  seemed  more  desolate 
and  forlorn  than  any  one  in  the  world ;  now,  all  at  once, 
her  cup  was  filled  to  the  brim  with  unlooked-for  joys. 

The  lovers,  ostensibly  for  the  sake  of  talking  over  the 
future  plans  for  the  Priory,  had  later  in  the  morning  a  long 
ramble  in  the  park,  and  it  was  in  the  ruined  church  itself 
that  they  had  their  real  parting;  but  neither  the  leave- 
taking,  nor  the  melancholy  tokens  of  failure  and  decay 
around  them,  nor  even  the  prospect  of  the  four  years' 
waiting,  could  depress  Doreen.  As  the  balmy  spring  air 
blew  softly  in  her  face,  it  seemed  to  fill  her  with  new  life ; 
her  feet  passed  lightly  over  the  smooth  turf  flecked  with 
daisies ;  she  felt  as  free  from  care  as  the  birds  that  flpw 


DOREEN  137 

about  the  old  ivy-covered  walls,  and  darted  off  blithely  to 
the  trees  beyond  as  they  approached.  Her  bright  hopeful- 
ness infected  Max,  who  did  not  as  a  rule  fail  to  take  cheer- 
ful views  of  life,  —  at  any  rate,  after  the  first  two  or  three 
hours  of  the  morning  were  over.  He  began  to  realize  that 
his  position  with  Doreen  gave  him  many  privileges,  though 
not  all  that  he  coveted ;  and  he  derived  great  amusement 
and  satisfaction  from  successful  attempts  to  dodge  General 
Hereford,  who  was  bent  on  showing  him  sundry  trees  in  the 
park  which  he  thought  had  better  be  cut  down. 

Even  when  he  returned  from  Firdale  that  evening  after 
seeing  the  last  of  his  guests,  he  was  still  in  tolerably  good 
spirits,  and  was  awakened  rudely  enough  from  dreams  of 
Doreen  by  a  discovery  which  stirred  him  to  greater  anger 
than  he  had  given  way  to  for  many  a  day. 

Happening  to  go  to  his  room  to  dress  for  dinner  some- 
what earlier  than  usual,  he  noticed,  to  his  surprise,  through 
the  open  door,  that  the  upper  drawer  of  his  secretary,  which 
he  invariably  locked,  was  wide  open ;  approaching  quietly 
he  looked  in,  then  with  a  wrathful  ejaculation  strode  for- 
ward and  caught  Baptiste's  arm  in  an  iron  grip.  In  the 
valet's  hand  there  was  an  open  letter,  beside  him  on  the 
dressing-table  a  pile  of  documents  which  he  had  evidently 
been  looking  through. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "  thundered  Max.  "  How 
dare  you  unlock  my  secretary  and  meddle  with  my  papers  ? '' 

"  Monsieur  knows  that  I  do  not  read  English,"  protested 
Baptiste.  "  I  was  but  rearranging  and  tidying  the  place  ; 
it  was  in  great  disorder,  as  Monsieur  well  knows." 

This  was  true;  things  belonging  to  Max  were  seldom 
methodically  arranged,  and  had  he  been  prudent  he  would 
have  let  the  matter  pass,  and  have  told  the  man  later  on 
that  he  had  previously  decided  to  dismiss  him.  But  though 
usually  self-controlled,  Max  had  a  naturally  hasty  temper, 
and  nothing  irritated  him  so  much  as  any  sort  of  deception 
or  untruth. 

''  You  scoundrel ! "  he  cried  passionately.  "  You  are  tell- 
ing a  lie,  and  you  know  it.     Leave  the  room," 


138  DOREEN 

"I  assure  you,  Monsieur,''^  stammered  out  the  servant; 
but  Max  would  not  hear  another  word. 

^*  Do  you  wish  me  to  doubt  my  own  eyes  ?  I  saw  you 
re.xding  the  letter;  you  were  so  absorbed  in  it  that  you 
did  not  hear  my  steps." 

Baptiste  volubly  assured  his  master  that  he  could  speak 
but  little  English,  and  could  read  it  —  not  at  all,  certainly 
not  at  all.  But  Max  knew  well  enough  that  the  fellow  was 
lying,  and  hastily  scrawling  a  few  words  on  a  sheet  of  paper, 
handed  it  to  him  with  a  gesture  of  dismissal.  Baptiste, 
surprised  and  confused,  utterly  lost  his  head. 

" Monsieur,^^  he  pleaded,  "I  can  but  obey,  yet  I  implore 
you  not  to  take  away  my  character." 

"  Oh  !  you  can  read  that,"  said  Max,  drily. 

He  had  written  in  English  a  brief  direction  to  the  house- 
keeper. "I  have  dismissed  Baptiste.  Pay  him  his  wages 
an  1  let  him  go  at  once." 

The  man  flushed  deeply ;  an  angry  gleam  came  into  his 
dark  eyes. 

"I  have  served  faithfully  for  many  years,"  he  said. 
"  Will  you  for  a  mere  bagatelle  ruin  my  life  and  take 
away  my  character  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Max ;  "1  will  say  the  truth,  that  I  have  found 
you  an  excellent  servant  in  every  respect  save  one.  If  they 
ask  me  why  you  left,  I  shall  certainly  not  represent  you  as 
the  soul  of  truth  and  honour." 

"  Then  adieu,  Monsieur,^^  said  Baptiste,  drawing  himself 
up,  and  darting  a  malicious  glance  at  his  master.  '^You 
will  live  to  regret  this  day." 

Later  on,  in  the  drawing-room,  Mrs.  Hereford  remon- 
strated a  little  with  her  son  on  what  she  deemed  a  some- 
what hasty  dismissal  of  an  old  and  tried  servant.  "You 
might  at  least  have  given  him  his  congi  with  less  severity, 
particularly  as  you  had  decided  before  to  part  with  him," 
she  urged. 

"There  was  no  time  to  think  of  that;  I  was  far  too 
angry,"  said  Max.  "He  may  think  himself  lucky  that  I 
did  not  kick  him  downstairs  as  he  deserved." 


DOREEJV  139 

Mrs.  Hereford  sighed,  and  her  troubled  look  instantly- 
softened  Max. 

"  Indeed,  mother,  I  don't  think  I  gave  him  more  than  he 
deserved.  Don't  worry  about  it;  the  fellow  will  have  no 
difficulty  in  getting  another  place ;  he  is  far  too  clever  to 
be  long  out  of  work.'^ 

"  I  was  not  so  much  thinking  of  Baptiste  as  of  you,"  she 
replied.  "  I  hoped  you  had  at  last  got  your  temper  quite 
in  hand ;  but  if  such  a  thing  £is  this  can  so  move  you,  how 
will  you  endure  the  far  worse  provocations  you  are  sure  to 
meet  with?" 

Hot  tempered  and  intolerant  of  any  sort  of  deception. 
Max  was,  nevertheless,  thoroughly  conscious  of  his  own 
shortcomings ;  he  took  the  reproof  with  the  silent  deference 
seldom  seen  except  in  children. 

Mrs.  Hereford  had  certainly  not  spoilt  her  only  son,  and 
her  task  had  been  no  easy  one ;  for  Max  for  the  first  ten 
years  of  his  life  had  been  one  of  those  excessively  pas- 
sionate children  so  difficult  to  manage,  —  most  loving  and 
devoted  when  good,  and  most  fiendishly  vindictive  when 
put  out.  The  last  of  his  serious  outbursts  of  temper  with 
his  mother  had  long  ago  taken  place.  Having  been  guilty 
on  his  tenth  birthday  of  some  specially  flagrant  act  of  dis- 
obedience, she  had  punished  him  by  shutting  him  in  alone 
into  her  little  sitting-room.  Furious  at  losing  a  whole  hour 
out  of  his  holiday,  he  had  revenged  himself  by  opening  the 
cage  containing  a  very  favourite  canary  that  his  mother 
prized  above  all  things  because  it  had  been  her  husband's 
last  gift  to  her.  With  huge  delight  he  saw  the  bird  flutter 
round  the  room  and  soar  out  of  the  open  window  into  that 
free,  sunny  landscape  from  which  he  deemed  himself  most 
cruelly  and  unfairly  detained.  But  his  triumph  did  not 
last  long ;  his  mother's  surprise  and  sorrow  at  finding  the 
cage  empty  gratified  him  for  a  moment,  but  the  utter  dismay 
and  grief  in  her  face  as  she  turned  to  him  with  the  sudden 
perception  that  he  must  deliberately  have  tried  to  hurt  her 
broke  down  his  pride  for  ever,    He  flung  hiinself  at  hey 


I40  DOREEN 

feet,  sobbing  out  the  whole  truth  and  pouring  forth  all  his 
self-loathing,  all  his  love  f©r  her.  He  prayed  as  he  had 
never  prayed  before  that  the  canary  might  come  back.  But 
it  never  did,  and  its  empty  cage  gave  him  many  a  wholesome 
heartache. 

"  I  will,  at  any  rate,  say  good-bye  to  Baptiste,  and  give 
him  the  option  of  remaining  till  the  end  of  his  month,"  he 
said  after  a  few  minutes'  silence.  "  He  was  to  blame,  but 
I  certainly  lost  my  temper  with  him." 

But  when  he  went  out  into  the  hall  to  make  inquiries,  the 
butler  told  him  that  the  valet  had  already  left.  A  month 
after  his  character  was  applied  for  by  a  gentleman  living  in 
Dublin,  and  Max,  true  to  his  word,  said  all  that  could  be 
said  in  the  man's  praise,  but  when  asked  the  reason  of  his 
leaving,  wrote  uncompromisingly,  "I  found  him  reading 
my  private  letters,  and  dismissed  him  in  sudden  anger. 
It  was,  however,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  his  first  offence." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

'*  In  my  thought  I  see  you  stand  with  a  path  on  either  hand, 
—  Hills  that  look  into  the  sun,  and  there  a  river'd  meadow  land  ; 
And  your  lost  voice  with  the  things  that  it  decreed  across  me  thrills, 
When  you  thought,  and  chose  the  hills. 
'  If  it  prove  a  life  of  pain,  greater  have  I  judged  the  gain. 
With  a  singing  soul  for  music's  sake,  I  climb  and  meet  the  rain.' " 

Alice  Meynell. 

In  the  course  of  the  next  few  years  the  drawing-room  in 
Bernard  Street  entirely  lost  its  air  of  stiff  propriety;  it 
was  the  despair  of  the  housemaid,  whose  vain  attempts 
each  morning  to  tidy  unmanageable  stacks  of  music,  or  to 
marshal  the  books  in  seemly  ranks,  or  to  hide,  or,  if  possi- 
ble, to  confiscate  the  heterogeneous  collection  of  rubbish 
which  the  children  called  toys,  sometimes  stirred  even 
Doreen's  untidy  nature  into  momentary  sympathy. 

"  Poor  Marianne ! "  she  would  sing  in  a  comical  parody. 
"  What  with  uncle's  study,  which  she  may  only  dust  at  rare 
intervals  when  there  are  no  valuable  remains  lying  about, 
and  what  with  the  children's  playthings  straying  all  over 
the  place,  and,  worst  of  all,  with  my  Bohemian  ways  and 
manifold  comings  and  goings,  and  meals  at  unseasonable 
hours,  it  is  a  wonder  that  she  still  stays  here  and  doesn't 
desert  us  for  some  comfortable  situation  in  a  tidy  and 
Philistine  suburban  villa." 

But  Marianne  was  devoted  to  Doreen,  and  waited  on  her 
gladly,  even  when  she  gave  a  good  deal  of  trouble ;  and  as 
for  Aunt  Garth,  she  seemed  to  like  the  drawing-room  in  its 

141 


142  DOREEAT 

new  state  far  better  than  in  former  times,  when  it  had  been 
a  mere  reception-room,  never  used  as  a  sitting-room,  or  in 
any  way  made  the  centre  of  the  home.  She  liked  it  spe- 
cially in  that  interval  when  Doreen  had  come  up  from  her 
solitary  four-o'clock  dinner,  and  sat  working  away  at  her 
letters  at  the  davenport  near  the  fire,  breaking  the  monot- 
ony of  her  unwelcome  task  every  now  and  then  by  merry 
snatches  of  talk. 

It  was  now  four  years  since  the  day  when  the  house  in 
Bernard  Street  had  opened  its  friendly  doors  to  the  five 
orphans.  As  Mrs.  Garth  sat  knitting  by  the  fireside  and 
glanced  across  the  hearthrug  at  her  niece,  she  saw  how 
great  a  change  time  had  wrought  in  Doreen.  Happiness 
and  success  had  entirely  banished  all  signs  of  care  and  sad- 
ness from  her  bright  face ;  yet,  nevertheless,  she  looked 
old  for  her  twenty-two  years,  and,  spite  of  her  simplicity 
of  manner,  gave  people  the  impression  that  she  was  a 
woman  who  knew  the  world  and  was  capable  of  holding 
her  own.  Gay  and  light-hearted  and  talkative  she  would 
be  to  her  dying  day,  but  her  early  struggles  and  the  neces- 
sity of  going  forth  into  public  life  alone  at  an  age  when 
most  girls  are  shielded  from  all  care  and  trouble  and  danger 
had  given  her  a  sort  of  dignity  which  greatly  enhanced 
the  charm  of  her  frank  friendliness. 

Her  success  had  been  extraordinarily  rapid  after  those 
first  weary  weeks  of  waiting  for  a  chance  of  being  heard. 
Everything  seemed  in  her  favour ;  the  retirement  of  Miss 
Latouche  and  the  American  tour  of  Madame  De  Berg  left 
excellent  opportunities  for  a  new  soprano,  and  Doreen  had 
speedily  become  the  rage. 

"  You  must  have  managed  very  cleverly,'^  said  Madame 
De  Berg,  with  a  withering  smile  on  her  thin  lips.  "  I  sup- 
pose you  have  given  little  suppers  to  all  the  critics  ;  that 
pays  very  well  sometimes,  and  has  doubtless  brought  you 
some  of  those  pleasing  laudations.'^ 

"  I  don't  know  any  of  the  critics,"  said  Doreen,  laughing, 
^'  and  I'm  sure  they  wouldn't  like  having  supper  with  me, 


DOREEN-  143 

for  I  go  home  to  nothing  but  a  great  joram  of  bread  and 
milk,  and  am  far  too  hungry  to  share  it  with  any  one." 

Madame  De  Berg  made  the  slightest  possible  gesture  with 
her  shoulders  ;  she  smiled,  but  not  sweetly. 

"  Then  how  has  all  your  popularity  come  about  ?  "  she 
said. 

"I  can't  think,"  said  Doreen.  "It  is  just  a  delightful 
surprise.  I  have  done  nothing  but  work  hard,  and  of  course 
there  are  plenty  of  singers  who  do  that." 

"  Well,  make  hay  while  the  sun  shines,"  said  the  rival 
soprano,  assuming  a  friendly  tone,  "  for  I  don't  think  you'll 
last,  my  dear  ;  you  haven't  the  physique  for  a  singer's  life." 

With  which  Parthian  shot  she  sailed  out  of  the  cloak- 
room, while  naughty  Doreen  ran  up  to  the  cheval  glass  and 
studied  her  slim  figure  critically. 

"  Must  one  grow  so  very,  very  stout  to  be  a  lasting  sort 
of  singer  ?  "  she  asked,  turning,  with  laughter  in  her  eyes, 
to  Ferrier,  the  celebrated  bass.  He  was  a  man  who  from  the 
first  had  befriended  her ;  she  liked  him  better  than  any  of 
her  fellow-workers,  and  was  very  intimate  with  his  wife  and 
daughter. 

"  No  need  at  all,"  he  replied,  "  if  only  singers  would  take 
more  exercise.  I  have  been  singing  for  the  last  quarter  of 
a  century,  and  am  still  one  of  the  '  lean  kine.'  As  for  your 
success,  my  dear,  it  is  not  of  the  kind  that  springs  from 
critics  and  little  suppers,  or  from  pandering  to  the  taste  of 
the  public  and  singing  sentimental  twaddle ;  you  have  suc- 
ceeded because  you  are  an  earnest  worker,  and  a  conscien- 
tious artiste." 

Doreen  had  known  how  to  appreciate  such  praise,  and  the 
words  more  than  repaid  her  for  Madame  De  Berg's  spiteful 
attack. 

The  years  had  passed  by,  on  the  whole,  with  wonderful 
swiftness,  and  they  had  been  happy  years,  full  of  hope  and 
hard  work  and  healthy  enjoyment  of  the  struggle  to  over- 
come difficulties.  Kathenow  had  found  her  a  pupil  after 
his  own  heart,  determined  to  reach  the  highest  standard  of 


144  DOREEN 

which  her  powers  would  admit ;  her  earnestness  made  her 
respected  by  all  genuine  musicians ;  her  merry  light-heart- 
edness  made  her  a  favourite  in  the  artistes'  room,  and  a  cer- 
tain indescribable  purity  of  heart  and  life  gave  her  a  peculiar 
position  of  her  own  in  the  profession,  which  was  not  to  be 
impaired  even  by  her  occasional  displays  of  a  vehement 
Keltic  temperament.  Every  one  knew  that  although  it  was 
difficult  to  rouse  Doreen  O'Ryan  by  any  sort  of  personal 
attack,  it  was  very  easy  indeed  to  stir  up  her  wrath  by  an 
attack  upon  Ireland  or  the  Irish,  or  by  venturing  to  speak 
in  a  disparaging  way  of  Donal  Moore  and  the  Land  League. 

The  busy  pen  was  flying  over  the  paper  at  lightning  speed 
when  the  door  opened,  and  Dermot  ran  in,  cap  in  hand  ;  his 
curls  had  been  shorn,  for  he  was  now  a  schoolboy  of  ten 
years  old,  somewhat  thin  and  delicate-looking,  however,  and 
with  a  dreamy  look  in  his  eyes,  curiously  unlike  Michael's 
wide-awake  expression. 

"  Two  minutes  to  post  time,  Doreen !  "  he  exclaimed. 

She  made  an  ejaculation  of  dismay. 

"  This  London  post  will  be  the  death  of  me !  Stamp 
those,  there^s  an  angel,  and  this  one  for  America.'^ 

"  Oh,  is  that  a  poem  ?  "  cried  Dermot,  pouncing  upon 
some  verses  which  he  espied. 

"  Don't  talk,  asthore,  or  I  will  be  putting  ^  affectionately ' 
for  ^  truly '  to  a  man  I  have  never  seen.  Yes,  yes ;  you  shall 
read  the  verses  when  you  come  back.  Now  fly,  or  they  will 
be  too  late." 

Dermot  caught  up  the  pile  of  letters  and  bounded  out  of 
the  room,  while  Doreen,  flinging  down  her  un wiped  pen, 
pushed  back  her  chair  somewhat  wearily,  and  crouched 
down  on  the  hearthrug  to  warm  her  hands  by  the  fire. 

"  Drawback  number  one  to  the  pleasures  of  an  artiste's 
life,"  she  said,  smiling,  "the  dreary  drudgery  of  much 
letter-writing.  Drawback  number  two,  the  plague  of  dress- 
makers. Drawback  number  three,  having  to  take  one's 
family  life  in  fitful  snatches.  Oh,  how  I  wish  there  was  no 
need  to  turn  out  to-night !  " 


DOREEN'  t45 

^*  Are  you  tired,  dear?"  asked  Mrs.  Garth,  looking  with 
some  anxiety  at  the  mobile  face,  upon  which  the  flickering 
firelight  played. 

"  Not  tired,  but  lazy ;  or,  to  quote  Mr.  Fox,  it's  a  touch  of 
*  what  Madame  Fox  and  I  call  lassitude,' "  said  Doreen, 
smiling.  "  I  have  been  singing  now  for  some  years,  at  an 
average  of  five  nights  a  week,  and  somehow  I  wish  they 
would  invent  a  new  form  of  concert,  for  there  is  a  hideous 
monotony  about  the  ordinary  sort.  It  is  marvellous  to  me 
how  people  can  go  week  after  week  to  Mr.  Boniface's  con- 
certs, for  instance ;  again  and  again  I  see  the  same  faces, 
and  they  never  seem  to  weary  of  the  eternal  round  of  bal- 
lads." 

"  What  are  you  singing  to-night  ?  " 

"  A  song  of  Spohr's  ;  a  catchy  little  duet  with  Madame 
St.  Pierre,  which  is  very  popular  just  now ;  and,  of  course 
my  great  consolation,  a  real  old  Irish  melody." 

"  Ah,  here  comes  Dermot,  eager  to  hear  the  poem." 

Taking  up  a  piece  of  manuscript  from  the  table,  she  read 
some  pathetic  lines  about  an  Irish  eviction,  —  lines  which 
made  the  child's  eyes  dim  with  tears. 

"They  are  by  Mr.  Brian  Osmond,"  she  said,  "and  a 
friend  of  his  out  in  America  —  a  tenor  named  Sardoni  — 
has  just  set  them  to  music.  By  and  bye  I  will  sing  you 
the  song ;  to  my  mind  it  is  a  lovely  air,  and  it  ought  to  be 
a  great  success.  I  only  wish  he  could  bring  it  out  at  once, 
but  there  is  sure  to  be  delay  before  he  has  arranged  with  a 
publisher,  specially  as  he  is  across  the  Atlantic.  I  long  to 
be  singing  this  and  stirring  up  the  indifferent." 

"  What  was  it  that  Mr.  Moore  was  saying  about  the  evic- 
tions that  had  taken  place  last  year  ?  " 

"  He  was  saying  that  owing  to  the  bad  season  and  the 
great  distress,  the  number  of  evictions  had  greatly  increased. 
Last  year  there  were  over  a  thousand  families  evicted ;  this 
year  he  thinks  the  number  will  be  probably  doubled,  and 
that  things  must  go  from  bad  to  worse  until  real  substantial 
justice  has  been  shown  to  the  nation.     I  wish  I  could  do 

L 


U6  DOREEN- 

something  more  for  my  people  than  singing  ballads  and 
national  airs ! " 

"  Yet  to  be  the  national  singer  is  no  small  thing,"  said 
Mrs.  Garth,  in  her  quiet  voice.  "I  am  not  sure  that  your 
songs  will  not  outweigh  other  people's  speeches ;  and  in  any 
case  it  is  not  so  much  what  we  do,  but  the  spirit  animating 
us  that  is  of  real  importance.  You  actively  work  for  your 
country,  love  her,  and  pray  for  her  welfare  unceasingly. 
Did  you  ever  hear  that  saying  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  '  Every 
man  is  worth  as  much  as  the  things  are  worth  about  which 
he  busies  himself '  ?  " 

Doreen  was  silent  for  a  moment,  gazing  into  the  depths 
of  the  fire  and  tracing  some  curious  resemblance  to  the  out- 
line of  Monkton  Verney  Priory. 

"  So  you  think,"  she  said,  looking  up  with  a  smile,  "  that 
the  monotony  of  eternal  ballad  concerts,  and  the  woes  of 
dressmakers,  and  business  letters,  and  even  perhaps  the 
plague  of  autograph-hunters,  may  be  set  down  as  indirect 
work  for  Ireland  ?  It  would  be  a  very  consoling  belief, 
though  the  process  seems  roundabout.  But  then,  to  be  sure, 
it  is  a  roundabout  world.  Did  you  hear  that  Mrs.  Hereford 
wants  me  to  sing  at  Firdale  when  the  election  work  begins? 
I  only  trust  it  may  be  in  my  least  busy  time  of  year,  for  I 
should  dearly  like  to  do  a  bit  of  direct  work  like  that  just 
for  once.  Happy  thought!  Why  should  I  not  persuade 
this  Signor  Sardoni  to  let  me  sing  his  song  just  during  the 
election,  even  if  it  is  not  already  published  ?  We  will  make 
him  secure  his  copyright  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  Has  Mr.  Hereford  seen  the  song  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  but  I  am  sure  he  will  like  it.  Oh,  he  is  be- 
coming very  much  devoted  to  Ireland ;  we  shall  soon  have 
him  a  good  staunch  Home-ruler.  Here  come  the  children, 
eager  for  a  dance,  I  can  see." 

A  little  fairy  like  girl  of  seven  came  bounding  across  the 
room  and  flung  her  arms  about  Doreen's  neck.  She  had 
the  most  winsome  and  coaxing  of  faces,  but  there  was  a 
fragile  look   about  her  which  sometimes   filled   the   elder 


DOREEISr  147 

sister  with  anxiety.  Mollie  was  her  greatest  treasure,  but 
a  somewhat  careful  comfort.  Little  four-year-old  Bride,  on 
the  other  hand,  was  much  such  a  child  as  she  herself  had 
been,  only  more  solidly  built,  and  with  rounder,  rosier 
cheeks.  Her  black  hair  was  cut  straight  across  her  fore- 
head, and  Max  Hereford  used  to  declare  that  living  in  the 
same  house  with  Mr.  Garth  had  given  the  child  a  sort  of 
Egyptian  look. 

A  merry  romp  followed,  then  Doreen  played  Garry 
Owen,  and  the  three  children  transformed  themselves  into 
Oberon,  Titania,  and  Puck,  and  danced  the  most  fantastic 
dances  conceivable,  talking  in  the  intervals  in  a  sort  of 
comical  jargon,  partly  Shakespearian,  partly  suggested  by 
the  latest  pantomime  and  spoken  in  a  stately  measured 
fashion,  freely  sprinkled  with  thees  and  thous,  a  mode 
which  was  deemed  proper  among  fairies. 

Doreen  forgot  all  the  petty  vexations  and  anxieties  of  her 
life  as  she  watched  them,  and  if  the  children  added  con- 
siderably to  her  work,  they  nevertheless  contrived  to  keep 
her  heart  young  and  fresh,  sweetening  with  their  sunshiny 
presence  the  difficult  double  life  to  which  she  had  been 
called. 

After  a  while  Michael  returned  from  his  work  at  Ber- 
mondsey,  and  there  was  much  to  hear  of  his  day's  doings. 
He  was  now  a  tall,  bright-faced  lad  of  sixteen,  and  had  just 
begun  his  course  of  training  as  an  engineer.  Doreen  was 
immensely  proud  of  him,  and  his  chivalrous  devotion  to  her 
was  pretty  to  see ;  he  was  the  only  one  who  could  fully 
realize  all  that  she  had  been  to  them,  and  already  he  was 
beginning  to  take  thought  for  her  comfort  in  a  fashion  far 
beyond  his  years. 

''  They  say  you  are  to  have  some  wonderful  infant  prodigy 
at  the  concert  to-night,"  he  said,  as  he  turned  over  the 
pieces  in  Doreen's  portfolio,  to  find  the  songs  she  would 
need. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  ;  I  had  forgotten.  Little  Una  Kingston 
is  to  make  her  first  appearance  in  England.     It  seems  to 

l2 


148  DOREEN 

me  a  very  cruel  thing,  this  craze  for  precocious  children. 
She  is  only  eleven." 

"  Is  she  a  pianiste  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Garth. 

"  No,  she  plays  the  violin :  a  solo  of  De  Beriot's,  I  see. 
Poor  little  mite!  one  feels  sorry  for  her.  Madame  St. 
Pierre  says  she  is  now  entirely  under  the  care  of  Madame 
De  Berg,  for  her  father  died  six  months  ago,  and  this  cousin 
of  his  is  sole  guardian." 

"  Do  take  me  to  hear  her,"  said  MoUie,  coaxingly. 

"  No,  no,  darling ;  you  are  far  better  in  bed ;  and  for  the 
matter  of  that,  so  would  the  little  prodigy  be,  too.  Some 
other  time  I  will  take  you  to  hear  her  when  she  is  playing 
at  a  morning  concert.  In  all  probability  she  will  become 
the  rage.  Why,  here  comes  Mrs.  Muchmore;  Bride,  my 
sweet,  you  must  go  to  bed,  and  Mollie  shall  come  and  help 
me  dress." 

"  Wait,"  cried  Dermot,  receiving  from  the  hands  of  the 
nurse  a  lovely  spray  of  pink  and  white  azaleas  and  maiden- 
hair, "  here  come  Mr.  Hereford's  flowers.  How  clever  it  is 
of  him  always  to  remember  when  you  are  going  to  sing. 
It  must  cost  him  an  awful  lot  to  get  so  many  flowers! 
Does  he  send  them  to  many  other  singers,  do  you  think?  " 

Doreen  laughed,  and  picking  up  the  flowers  in  one  hand 
and  Mollie  in  the  other,  ran  upstairs. 

"  You  had  better  ask  him,"  she  said,  looking  back  with  a 
mischievous  gleam  in  her  blue  eyes. 

A  little  later  in  the  evening,  having  climbed  the  familiar 
stone  staircase  at  St.  James'  Hall  and  passed  through  the 
narrow  outer  room,  she  was  confronted  in  the  artistes'  room 
by  a  somewhat  unusual  sight.  A  little  girl  in  the  shortest 
of  white  silk  frocks  stood  crying  by  the  table.  Nothing 
was  to  be  seen  of  her  face ;  it  was  hidden  by  the  long- 
fingered,  delicately  shaped  hands,  while  wavy  golden  hair 
shadowed  the  forehead  and  hung  in  lovely  luxuriance  over 
the  bent  shoulders.  Beside  her  stood  Madame  De  Berg, 
florid  and  flushed,  evidently  in  the  worst  of  tempers,  and 
soundly  rating  her  little  ward.     In  the  doorway  Ferrier  and 


DOKEEJSr  !49 

M.  St.  Pierre  lingered,  either  from  curiosity,  or  from  an 
innate  feeling  that  the  child  would  fare  worse  if  they  went 
away. 

"Come,  my  dear,"  said  Terrier,  greeting  Doreen  in  his 
fatherly  fashion,  "  you  are  precisely  the  very  being  I  wanted. 
Go  and  rescue  that  unlucky  child  from  her  tormentor ; "  and 
ignoring  the  fact  that  Madame  De  Berg  was  Doreen's  bitter- 
est enemy,  he  sauntered  across  the  room  and  putting  his 
hand  on  the  little  violinist's  shoulder,  drew  her  gently 
away. 

"  There  is  a  lady  who  wishes  particularly  that  you  should 
be  introduced  to  her,"  he  said,  kindly.  "  She  knows  all 
about  first  appearances  and  stage  fright,  and  she  likes  noth- 
ing in  the  world  so  well  as  children." 

Madame  De  Berg  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  I  wish  you  joy  of  this  child,"  she  said,  greeting  Doreen 
a  little  less  stiffly  than  usual.  "  But  if  you  will  only  bring 
her  to  a  proper  frame  of  mind  in  time  for  her  solo,  I  shall 
be  much  beholden  to  you.  I  must  go  down  j  it  is  time  for 
my  duet." 

As  she  left  the  room,  Una  yielded  to  Ferrier's  exhorta- 
tions, uncovered  her  tear-stained  face,  and  lifted  a  pair  of 
frightened  gray  eyes  to  glance  at  the  stranger  who  wished 
for  an  introduction.  She  saw  a  face  that  took  her  heart 
by  storm,  not  by  its  beauty,  but  by  its  tenderness.  In  a 
moment  she  felt  that  here  was  a  being  to  whom  she  be- 
longed.    Doreen  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

"I  have  heard  of  you  often,"  she  said.  "I  heard  of 
you  on  the  night  of  my  own  d^hut  when  I  was  quite  as 
miserable  and  frightened  as  you  are." 

"  Were  you  all  alone  ?  "  asked  Una. 

"  Quite  alone ;  that  is  to  say,  I  knew  no  one  at  all.  Of 
course  Mrs.  Muchmore  was  with  me.  By  the  bye,  I  will 
get  her  to  fetch  you  some  water.  We  must  bathe  your 
eyes  and  make  you  look  yourself  again.  It  will  spoil  peo- 
ple's pleasure  if  you  go  on  looking  sad  and  woebegone." 

"  I  wouldn't  mind  so  much,"  said  the  child  piteously,  "  if 


1^6  DOREEM 

Herr  Rimmers  could  have  been  here.  He  is  my  master, 
and  he  would  have  played  my  accompaniment ;  but  we  have 
just  heard  that  his  wife  is  dreadfully  ill  and  he  can't  come." 

"  That  does  seem  hard  on  you.  But  you  must  try  to 
play  all  the  better,  and  not  add  to  his  trouble.  And  as  to 
the  accompaniment,  why,  Ciseri  is  the  most  perfect  accom- 
panist in  England,  and  you  may  be  quite  at  rest  about  that. 
Is  this  your  violin  ?  " 

"It  was  my  father's,"  said  Una,  speaking  eagerly.  "I 
think  he  cared  for  it  more  than  for  anything  in  the  world 
except  me.  I  never  played  on  it  till  a  few  months  before 
he  died,  but  directly  my  hands  were  large  enough  he  let  me. 
I  used  to  have  a  three-quarter  size,  and  played  on  that  when 
I  played  at  the  Leipzig  concerts." 

"  Guess  you'd  best  let  me  fix  you,"  said  Mrs.  Muchmore, 
when  the  tear-stained  face  had  been  washed,  and  Una  found 
her  republican  frankness  so  surprising  and  yet  so  comfort- 
able that  she  resigned  herself,  entirely  to  her  tender  mercies, 
listening  meantime  to  Doreen's  cheerful  flow  of  talk. 

"  And  now  we  had  better  come  down  to  what  we  call  the 
family  pew,"  said  her  new  friend.  "Mrs.  Muchmore  will 
bring  the  music,  and  you  can  take  the  fiddle,  and  I  shall 
take  you."  She  took  the  child's  cold  hand  in  hers,  talking 
all  the  faster  when  she  felt  the  nervous  clasp  of  the  fingers. 
"  I  have  to  struggle  into  this  long  pair  of  gloves,"  she  added, 
with  a  laugh.  "  Do  you  know  the  saying  about  gloves  ?  ^  A 
Frenchwoman  puts  on  her  gloves  in  her  bedroom,  an  Eng- 
lishwoman in  the  entrance  hall,  a  Scotchwoman  out  of 
doors.'  And  as  to  the  Irishwoman,  I  think  she  never  puts 
them  on  at  all  till  she  is  forced  to  do  so." 

Una  smiled,  forgetting  for  the  moment  the  ordeal  that 
was  before  her;  but  she  clung  very  tightly  to  Doreen's 
hand  as  they  entered  the  funny  little  den  leading  to  the 
platform.  It  was  some  relief  to  find  that  her  guardian  was 
still  singing  the  duet  with  the  tenor ;  she  could  hear  that 
they  were  fast  approaching  the  end  of  ^^  Mira  la  bianca 
luna."     Meantime  Doreen  was   greeting  her  friends   and 


DOREEM  \%\ 

doing  her  best  to  make  her  little  companion  respond  gra- 
ciously to  the  remarks  addressed  to  her;  but  Una  was  a 
painfully  shy  child,  and  was  not  easily  drawn  out  of  her 
shell. 

"  Come  and  look  at  the  audience  and  get  accustomed  to 
them,"  said  Doreen,  taking  her  to  the  foot  of  the  steps 
where  she  could  gain  a  good  view  of  the  platform  and  a 
partial  view  of  the  hall.  "  I  can  see  a  dear  little  girl  just 
about  as  old  as  you  over  there  in  the  balcony ;  she  has  come 
on  purpose  to  hear  you,  I  should  think,  and  you  must  play 
to  her  so  beautifully  that  she  will  never  rest  until  she  has 
learnt  to  play  well  too.  And  down  there  in  the  stalls  I  see 
a  gloomy  old  man ;  you  must  play  to  him  so  entrancingly 
that  he  will  quite  forget  his  cares  and  troubles." 

At  this  moment  the  duet  ended,  and  Madame  De  Berg, 
with  the  regulation  smile  fading  from  her  face,  tripped 
down  the  steps  and  gave  a  keenly  critical  glance  at  Una. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  have  come  to  your  senses,"  she 
remarked.  "Pray  don't  treat  us  to  any  more  scenes  of  the 
kind." 

The  child  blushed  and  faltered;  there  was  an  ominous 
quiver  in  her  voice  as  she  said :  — 

"  Don't  watch  me,  please  don't  watch  me ;  it  makes  me 
nervous."     Madame  De  Berg  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  I  can  assure  you  I  am  heartily  tired  of  both  you  and 
your  fiddle,"  she  said,  with  a  sarcastic  little  laugh ;  and  with- 
out another  word  she  marched  out  of  the  family  pew  and 
betook  herself  to  the  cloak-room,  while  Una,  with  a  look  of 
relief,  turned  to  Doreen. 

"  If  Cousin  Flora  keeps  away,  I  don't  so  much  mind.  I 
will  think  of  what  you  said,  and  please  stand  just  there  so 
that  I  can  feel  you  near." 

And  now  the  final  tuning  of  the  fiddle  was  over,  and 
Ciseri  took  the  child's  hand  and  led  her  up  the  steps. 

"Good  luck  to  you,  dear!"  whispered  Doreen,  watching 
the  poor  little  victim  and  well  knowing  with  what  dire 
tremblings  of  the  knees  she  made  her  first  curtsey  to  that 


t^i  DOREEM 

great  unknown  public.  Yet  she  did  not  appear  ner- 
vous; the  little  feet  in  their  white  satin  slippers  were 
planted  firmly ;  the  slim  legs  in  their  white  silk  stockings 
betrayed  no  trembling;  the  pretty  face  only  showed  by 
heightened  colour  and  over-bright  eyes  the  strain  of  this 
ordeal.  Pleased  with  the  unusual  sight  of  a  violinist  who 
might  have  walked  to  all  appearance  straight  out  of  one  of 
Carpaccio's  pictures,  the  audience  gave  the  newcomer  a 
warm  reception,  and  Una,  when  once  embarked  on  De 
Beriot's,  "  he  Tremolo"  forgot  all  about  her  surroundings  and 
played  brilliantly.  Her  tone,  of  course,  was  as  yet  wanting 
in  richness,  but  both  execution  and  expression  showed  that 
the  child  had  wonderful  talent,  and  there  was  something 
almost  uncanny  in  the  mastery  which  the  shy,  delicate-look- 
ing little  girl  displayed  over  her  instrument.  Una  and  her 
violin  together  were  undoubtedly  a  rare  power ;  but  without 
the  violin  she  was  just  a  shrinking,  nervous  child,  and  it 
was  with  much  ado  that  Doreen  could  persuade  her  to  face 
again  the  applauding  audience  and  to  bow  her  acknowledg- 
ments. 

"  Will  you  not  play  again  ? "  said  old  Mr.  Boniface 
kindly.     "  You  have  evidently  pleased  the  people." 

"  Oh,  not  now,  not  now,"  pleaded  poor  Una.  "  There  are 
still  the  Scotch  airs  in  the  second  part." 

"  Then  at  any  rate  run  on  once  more  and  curtsey,"  said 
Doreen ;  "  and  just  notice  how  you  have  changed  the  whole 
look  of  that  doleful  old  man ;  he  is  shouting  '  hrava ! '  and 
looking  positively  delighted." 

Una  obeyed,  then  returning  once  more,  was  wholesomely 
diverted  from  dwelling  on  her  triumph  by  finding  that 
Doreen  was  to  sing.  Would  this  sweet-faced  Irish  heroine 
of  hers  have  a  voice  equal  to  her  face,  she  wondered ;  and 
sitting  down  on  the  steps  leading  to  the  platform,  where 
she  could  see  without  being  seen,  she  watched  Doreen  with 
an  eager  excitement,  not  unlike  that  with  which  Max  him- 
self had  waited  for  her  first  appearance  in  the  Albert  Hall. 
That  most  perfect  and  satisfying  of  songs,  Spohr's  "  Kose 


DOREEN  153 

Softly  Blooming,"  was  one  which  suited  Doreen  particularly 
well.  It  had  been  her  father's  favourite  air,  and  both  for 
that  reason  and  for  its  own  sake  she  loved  to  sing  it.  Una 
listened  entranced,  quite  forgetting  that  her  own  ordeal  was 
not  over. 

"  Oh,  do,  do  sing  again,"  she  implored,  as  Doreen  returned ; 
and  the  public  clearly  expressing  the  same  wish,  Doreen 
with  a  smile  turned  over  her  national  song-book,  and  asked 
Ciseri  to  play  for  her  the  lovely  Irish  melody  usually  sung 
to  Moore's  "Last  Rose  of  Summer,'^  but  which  she  had 
always  sung  to  Lady  Dufferin's  words,  — 

*'  Oh,  Bay  of  Dublin  !  my  heart  you're  troubling, 
Your  beauty  haunts  me  like  a  fever  dream  ; 
Like  frozen  fountains,  that  the  sun  sets  bubbling, 
My  heart's  blood  warms  when  I  but  hear  your  name, 

"  And  never  till  this  life  pulse  ceases, 

My  earliest,  latest  thought  you'll  cease  to  be. 
Oh,  there's  no  one  here  knows  how  fair  that  place  is, 
And  no  one  cares  how  dear  it  is  to  me." 

As  she  returned  from  singing  it,  Una  looked  up  into  her 
face  wonderingly.  What  was  it  that  brought  that  strange 
light  into  the  Irish  blue  eyes  ?  She  stood  up  and  slipped 
her  hand  into  Doreen' s.  The  touch  at  once  recalled  the 
singer  to  the  needs  of  the  present. 

"  Are  you  tired,  dear  ?  "  she  said,  glancing  down  at  the 
pretty,  flushed  face.  "  It  is  hot  in  here ;  let  us  come  out- 
side." 

"  I  see,"  said  Ferrier,  as  he  held  open  the  swing  doors  for 
them,  "  you  have  been  wise  enough  to  adopt  Miss  O'Ryan 
as  your  guardian  angel.  She  is  the  best  friend  you  could 
possibly  have." 

Doreen  laughed  and  protested  against  being  exalted  to 
the  angelic  host.  "  A  wingless  and  faulty  angel,"  she  said, 
as  they  went  upstairs ;  "  but  your  friend  I  will  be,  dear, 
with  all  my  heart." 


154  DOREEN 

Una's  words  did  not  come  readily,  particularly  when  she 
knew  that  Madame  De  Berg  was  close  at  hand;  but  she 
squeezed  Doreen's  fingers  in  response,  thinking  in  her 
heart  that  Terrier  had  spoken  nothing  but  the  truth ;  for, 
had  not  her  new  friend  sung  like  an  angel  ?  Had  not  there 
been  the  most  wonderful  look  on  her  face  when  she  returned 
from  her  work  ?  And  had  not  her  kindness  been  altogether 
unlike  what  was  usually  to.  be  met  with  in  this  hard  bus- 
tling world  ?  Nevertheless,  she  could  not  but  perceive  that 
her  guardian  angel  had  a  hot  Keltic  temper,  which  did  not 
accommodate  itself  at  all  easily  to  Madame  De  Berg's  sar- 
castic remarks.  For,  in  truth,  sarcasm  had  upon  Doreen 
the  same  effect  which  the  sharp,  cold  steel  of  a  spur  has 
upon  a  high-mettled  horse.  There  are  people  who  are 
simply  pained  by  sarcasm,  and  others  who  are  chilled  and 
silenced  by  it ;  others,  again,  seem  to  catch  the  infection, 
and  are  able  to  defend  themselves  in  evil  fashion  by  sarcas- 
tic retort.  But  Doreen  was  apt  to  be  entirely  upset,  and 
dangerously  roused  by  a  mode  of  attack  which  seemed  to 
her  like  a  personal  encounter  with  the  devil.  Fortunately, 
the  public  ovation  she  had  just  received,  Ferrier's  undue 
praise,  and  the  effect  of  her  own  singing  had  armed  her 
with  that  humility  which  is  slow  to  take  offence.  With  an 
effort  she  managed  to  control  the  hot  anger  which  set  her 
blood  on  fire,  as  Madame  De  Berg  talked  with  her,  and  as 
she  glanced  at  the  eager  eyes  of  the  child,  so  evidently 
watching  and  understanding  all  that  passed  between  her 
two  companions,  a  strong  desire  to  do  what  she  could  for 
the  forlorn  little  prodigy  gave  her  courage  to  strangle  her 
angry  resentment,  and  actually  to  ask  a  favour  of  her 
rival. 

"  I  have  been  talking  to  Una  of  my  little  brothers  and 
sisters,"  she  said.  "Will  you  spare  her  to  us  next  Sun- 
day ?  I  hear  it  is  her  only  free  day,  and  I  should  much 
like  to  have  her." 

Madame  De  Berg  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Oh/  have  her  by  all  means,  if  you  please.     I  should  be 


DORKEN  155 

glad  indeed  of  anything  tliat  roused  her  up  and  made  her 
a  little  more  like  other  children.  Her  Sundays  are  her  own, 
and  she  can  do  as  she  likes  about  accepting  your  invitation." 

"  I  like  to  come,  please,"  said  Una,  her  face  glowing  with 
delight.  Then,  as  Madame  De  Berg  was  summoned  for 
her  next  song,  she  put  both  hands  in  Doreen's  with  a  shy 
but  eager  gesture,  and  with  the  boldness  which  so  often 
curiously  accompanies  an  exceptionally  timid  nature,  said 
hurriedly :  — 

"  I  want  so  to  tell  you,  before  any  one  comes,  how  much 
I  love  you  —  I  love  you  more  than  any  one  I  ever  saw.  I 
wish,  oh,  so  much,  there  was  something  I  could  do  for  you ! " 

Doreen  had  listened  to  many  declarations  of  love  from 
sufficiently  tiresome  admirers,  always  with  the  vexed  con- 
sciousness that  it  was  her  refusal  to  be  actually  engaged  to 
Max  Hereford  which  laid  her  open  to  such  disagreeables. 
But  she  had  never  before  come  across  this  strange,  touch- 
ing, and  yet  almost  amusing  hero-worship  from  a  little  girl. 
There  was  something  in  the  child's  intense  fervour  and 
eager,  lover-like  devotion  which  pleased  her  greatly ;  and, 
though  she  could  not  help  smiling  a  little  at  the  thought 
of  the  suddenness  with  which  this  passion  had  possessed 
her  little  worshipper,  she  knew  that  such  love  was  from  its 
very  purity  and  freshness  a  thing  to  be  highly  prized.  Her 
heart  went  out  to  Una  with  that  motherliness  which  char- 
acterizes the  love  of  all  true  women. 

"We  must  see  a  great  deal  of  each  other,"  she  said, 
stooping  to  kiss  the  sweet  little  face  with  a  tenderness 
which  thrilled  through  the  child's  heart,  and  seemed  to  fill 
her  life  with  new  possibilities.  But  neither  of  them  in  the 
least  guessed  how  curiously  their  lives  were  to  be  bound  up 
together. 

Her  thought  at  present  was  entirely  how  she  could  serve 
the  poor  little  violinist,  whose  character  and  physique 
seemed  so  ill-suited  to  a  life  of  hard  work,  late  hours,  and 
constant  excitement.  Una's  reception  after  the  playing  of 
the   Scotch  airs  was  almost  overpowering.     It  was   quite 


156  DOREEISr 

clear  that  she  would  become  the  rage,  and  Doreen  learnt 
with  deep  regret  that  she  was  in  the  hands,  not  of  sensible 
and  considerate  Freen,  but  of  an  agent  who  would  not 
scruple  to  work  her  to  the  utmost,  and  from  whose  bondage 
there  was  no  possibility  of  escape  for  the  next  two  years. 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  your  success,"  said  old  Mr.  Boni- 
face, as  the  child  followed  Madame  De  Berg  down  the  stone 
staircase,  looking  sadly  pale  and  tired  now  that  all  was  over. 
Her  face  lighted  up  for  a  moment,  however,  as  she  caught 
sight  of  Doreen,  who  was  standing  beside  the  old  man. 

"  Will  you  take  this  home  to  your  little  sisters  ?  "  she 
said,  holding  out  a  huge  box  of  bonbons,  which  had  been 
presented  to  her  at  the  close  of  her  last  piece;  then,  as 
Doreen  protested  that  she  ought  to  eat  them  herself,  she 
added  entreatingly,  "I  would  rather  they  had  them,  and 
indeed  my  head  aches,  and  it  makes  me  feel  sick  even  to 
think  of  chocolate  creams." 

After  that,  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  accept  the 
present,  and  urging  Una  to  come  as  early  as  she  liked  on 
Sunday,  Doreen  bade  her  good  night,  and  turned  to  Mr. 
Boniface  with  a  sad  look  in  her  eyes. 

"  There  is  something  very  wrong  there,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  That  poor  little  soul  is  being  robbed  of  her  child- 
hood." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

•*  The  wide,  transparent  radiance  of  the  gloaming 

Broods  high  above  the  city's  great  unrest, 

And  rosy  little  clouds,  like  tired  birds  homing, 

Flutter  soft  wings  against  the  shining  west. 

**  Down  the  long  vistas  of  the  crowded  highways, 
A  purple  bloom  is  gently  gathering, 
And  daintily  through  streets,  and  squares,  and  by-ways, 
FHt  the  sweet  hesitating  steps  of  spring." 

Fbances  WrNNB. 

Among  the  audience  that  evening  at  St.  James'  Hall, 
there  chanced  to  have  been,  unknown  to  Doreen,  her  old 
acquaintance,  Miriam  Hereford.  The  General,  too,  had 
patiently  sat  through  the  whole  concert  to  please  his 
daughter ;  but  his  thoughts  had  been  engrossed  with  other 
matters,  and  as  they  drove  home  his  talk  took  a  practical 
turn. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  I  think  that  notion  of  yours  as  to 
your  cousin's  fancy  for  Miss  O'Ryan  was  all  a  mistake. 
The  years  pass  on,  and  nothing  comes  of  it." 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  said  Miriam,  indifferently. 
"He  makes  no  secret  of  his  admiration  for  her;  but  then,  as 
you  say,  nothing  happens." 

"  It  is  a  great  relief  to  my  mind,"  said  the  General,  "  for 
a  more  unfitting  marriage  could  not  well  be." 

"  Well,  papa,  I  don't  know ;  Doreen  is  very  charming  and 
very  clever;  and  if  her  father  was  an  Irish  rebel,  I  don't  see 
that  it  need  affect  us  very  much.  He  died  years  ago,  and 
will  never  give  any  more  trouble." 

157 


158  DOREEN 

"  Max  ought  to  marry  in  his  own  set/'  said  the  General, 
decidedly ;  "  and  you  know  well  enough,  my  dear,  what  I 
have  always  desired  for  him." 

"Yes,  you  were  always  a  hard-hearted  father,"  said 
Miriam,  saucily.  "  Most  anxious  to  get  your  daughter  safely 
disposed  of.  It's  very  unlucky,  daddy,  that  you  and  I  look 
on  that  question  so  differently.  I  am  in  no  hurry  at  all  to 
leave  you." 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  it  is  of  your  own  good  that  I  think,"  said 
the  General.  "It  is  well  enough  for  you  now;  but  what  is 
to  become  of  you  at  my  death  ?  And  time  is  passing  by ; 
you  ought  seriously  to  consider  the  matter.  I  own  that  I 
long  to  see  you  established  at  Monkton  Verney,  and  Max  is 
a  thoroughly  good  fellow;  he  would  make  you  perfectly 
happy." 

"No,  daddy,"  she  protested,  "he  would  make  me  per- 
fectly miserable.  As  a  cousin,  I  like  him  very  much,  but 
as  a  husband  he  would  fidget  me  to  death.  I  know  his  faults 
a  great  deal  too  well." 

"You  are  hard  on  him,"  said  the  General.  "He  is  no 
immaculate  hero,  but  he  is  one  of  the  best  fellows  I  know, 
liked  and  respected  by  all  who  come  across  him." 

"  Yes,  yes.  Max  is  all  very  well,"  she  said  impatiently, 
"but  it  is  so  dull  to  marry  one's  cousin;  and  then,  he  has 
never  asked  me." 

"  You  could  easily  make  him,"  said  the  father.  "You 
have  always  had  great  influence  over  him." 

"  Perhaps,"  she  confessed ;  "  but  I  don't  want  him,  daddy ; 
and  what's  more,  I  won't  have  him:  he  is  quite  given  over 
to  philanthropy  and  politics,  and  would  expect  a  wife  to 
sympathize  with  his  tastes.  Yes,  yes,  I  quite  agree  to  all 
you  would  say ;  he  is  handsome  and  rich,  —  perhaps  I  should 
like  him  better  if  he  were  not  quite  so  aggressively  hand- 
some and  rich." 

"Well,"  said  the  General,  with  a  sigh,  "I  confess  I  don't 
understand  you,  my  dear;  he  seems  to  me  a  delightful 
fellow," 


DO  KEEN  159 

"So  delightful,  but  so  uncomfortable,"  said  Miriam, 
naughtily.  "People  who  meet  him  in  society  only  know 
one  side  of  him,  and  the  sunny  side  is  fascinating  enough ; 
but  when  he  is  put  out,  he  can  be  more  like  a  grizzly  bear 
than  any  one  I  know.  And  besides,  now  I  think  of  it,  I 
fancy  Doreen  0'E.yan  really  does  care  for  him,  and  the 
politics  and  the  philanthropy  are  so  much  more  in  her 
line." 

As  she  recalled  Doreen's  bright  face  that  evening,  her 
thoughts  wandered  back  to  the  summer  visit  to  Ireland 
long  ago,  and  to  the  remembrance  of  the  little  curly-headed 
Irish  girl  who  had  sung  to  them  at  Castle  Karey.  Cer- 
tainly, she  reflected,  she  would  not  at  all  like  "  the  heart  of 
the  minstrel"  to  be  ^'breaking,"  for  the  sake,  too,  of  a 
purely  conventional  and  worldly  marriage  on  her  own  part. 

It  was  true  that  she  had  often  contemplated  a  loveless 
marriage  with  a  certain  calm  docility,  but  somehow  she 
would  have  preferred  not  to  sacrifice  Max  or  Doreen.  Still, 
as  her  father  said,  time  was  passing ;  she  was  now  eight  and 
twenty,  and  it  was  scarcely  to  be  supposed  that  her  whole 
life  was  to  be  devoted  to  the  memory  of  John  Desmond,  — 
a  man  who,  by  some  strange  magic,  had  won  her  heart  as  a 
girl  of  eighteen,  and  whose  plain,  forcible  face  rose  before 
her  now  more  vividly  than  faces  she  had  seen  but  a  few 
minutes  ago.  She  leant  back  in  the  brougham,  letting 
various  possibilities  float  through  her  mind,  weighing  the 
advantages  and  the  disadvantages  of  marriage  in  a  curiously 
calm,  unembarrassed  fashion.  Should  she  yield  to  her 
father's  and  her  mother's  great  wish,  or  should  she  still  be 
loyal  to  that  dream  of  her  girlhood  ?  An  irritating  sense 
of  the  great  power  which  Desmond  had  gained  over  her, 
and  of  the  little  she  really  knew  of  his  life  or  character, 
took  possession  of  her  and  brought  a  cloud  of  trouble  over 
her  beautiful  face.  Most  fervently  did  she  wish  she  had 
never  paid  that  Irish  visit  which  had  been  destined  to 
change  the  whole  tenor  of  her  existence.  After  all,  it 
wguld  be  very  satisfactory  to  be  at  the  head  of  the  Monkton 


i6o  DOREEIV 

Verney  household,  and  her  father  had  rightly  said  that  she 
had  great  influence  with  Max.  She  might  do  much  to 
divert  him  from  his  tiresome  schemes  of  reform,  might 
lure  him  into  safe  and  pleasant  paths  and  make  him  more 
like  other  people ;  might  tone  down  his  disturbing  and 
unfashionable  enthusiasms,  and  develop  in  him  that  slightly 
cynical  indifference  which  was,  to  her  mind,  ^'  better  form." 

The  brougham  stopped  as  she  reached  this  point  in  her 
reflections  ;  her  father  handed  her  out  and  fumbled  for  his 
latch-key  while  she  waited  on  the  door-step.,  looking  out 
over  the  moonlit  garden  of  the  Crescent.  Suddenly  she 
was  constrained  to  look  at  the  face  of  a  man  who  paced 
slowly  along  the  pavement ;  she  started  as  though  she  had 
seen  a  ghost,  recognizing  in  an  instant  that  pale,  sallow 
face,  almost  livid-looking  in  the  moonlight,  and  those  dark, 
wild  eyes  which  met  hers  now  sadly  and  hungrily.  Miriam 
made  a  step  forward  as  though  to  speak,  but  John  Desmond 
merely  raised  his  hat  and  passed  on. 

"Come,  my  dear,"  said  the  General,  throwing  open  the 
door ;  "  it  is  too  wintry  a  night  for  moon-gazing." 

And  the  girl  with  an  effort  dragged  herself  across  the 
hall,  and  with  a  hasty  good  night  to  her  father,  crept  up- 
stairs to  her  room,  dismissed  her  maid,  and  dropped  into  a 
chair  beside  the  lire,  trembling  in  every  limb.  He  was  alive 
and  in  London.  He  knew  where  she  lived,  and  he  still 
loved  her !  All  her  calm  dispassionate  consideration  of  a 
loveless  marriage  with  Max  Hereford  faded  away  as  though 
it  had  never  for  a  moment  existed  ;  the  world  held  for 
her  only  that  one  man  whose  extraordinary  influence  she 
acknowledged  without  in  the  least  understanding  it. 

In  the  meantime,  Desmond,  even  more  agitated  by  the 
recognizing  glance  which  he  had  received,  paced  slowly 
back  to  his  rooms  in  a  dismal  back  street  at  Westminster. 
He  was  much  altered  since  the  Castle  Karey  days,  though 
the  change  was  not  one  that  could  be  noticed  by  Miriam  in 
the  moonlight.  Seen,  however,  beneath  the  flaring  gas- 
burner  in  his  ^cantil^jr  furnished  lodging,  Desmond  reveale4 


DOREEN  l6i 

the  traces  of  many  years^  anxiety  and  excitement ;  there  were 
deep  lines  round  his  mouth,  the  hair  had  receded  from  his 
forehead,  making  it  more  noticeably  high  than  ever,  and  his 
eyes  had  a  restless,  unsatisfied  look  in  them.  On  the  whole, 
he  was  altered  very  much  for  the  worse;  and  though  there 
was  still  about  him  a  certain  force  of  character,  and  a  genu- 
ineness of  devotion  to  what  he  deemed  right,  the  man's 
whole  nature  seemed  twisted  and  distorted,  so  that  he  was 
really  incapable  of  judging  justly.  When  he  had  left  Castle 
Karey  he  had  returned  to  his  home,  there  to  endure  as  well 
as  might  be  the  tedious  months  of  convalescence,  and  to 
struggle  against  his  love  for  Miriam.  Finally,  he  had  re- 
solved to  put  the  Atlantic  between  them,  and,  dropping  all 
correspondence  with  Max,  had  buried  himself  in  a  great 
American  city,  where  he  did  his  best  to  forget  the  past. 
The  events  of  the  summer  had  roused  in  him  a  keen  sense 
of  the  wrongs  of  Ireland ;  but,  unluckily,  instead  of  falling 
in  with  men  of  the  same  calibre  as  Patrick  O'Ryan,  or  noble- 
minded,  unembittered  Nationalists  like  Donal  Moore,  he  was 
thrown  among  men  of  a  very  different  type,  and  he  had 
become  a  member  of  a  Secret  Society,  whose  extreme  views 
and  reckless  plans  of  action  were  the  despair  of  all  the  more 
sober  reformers.  As  an  agent  for  this  Society  he  chanced 
now  to  be  for  a  short  time  in  London,  and  curiosity  had  led 
him  that  night  to  St.  James'  Hall.  It  was  with  a  very 
strange  feeling  that  he  listened  to  Doreen  O'Ryan's  songs  ; 
was  this  graceful,  white-robed  singer  indeed  the  little  Irish 
girl  whose  merry  laughter  and  lively  talk  had  once  amused 
him  as  they  rowed  about  Lough  Lee  ?  Was  that,  indeed, 
the  face  which  he  had  seen  blanched  with  terror  on  that 
terrible  afternoon  ?  And  had  those  hands,  indeed,  grasped 
the  tiller  and  steered  with  desperate  resolution  over  the 
water  beneath  which  lay  the  body  of  James  Foxell  ? 

"  Peacefully  smiling,  so  let  me  be, 
Living  or  dying,  sweet  rose,  like  thee.'* 

These  were  the  words  she  sang.     He  wondered  greatly  if 


i62  DOREEN 

beneath  her  frank,  sweet  face,  with  its  sunshiny  look,  there 
yet  remained  hidden  away  a  dark,  ghastly  remembrance  of 
that  past  scene.  Had  all  this  applause  and  success  driven 
out  such  memories?  She  was  graciously  vouchsafing  an 
encore,  and  her  choice  had  fallen  on  a  well-known  national 
song.  In  thinking  of  her  country's  deep  wrongs,  had  she 
perhaps  forgotten  the  fatal  dispute  she  had  so  unwillingly 
witnessed  in  her  childhood  ? 

But  suddenly  all  thoughts  of  Doreen  were  banished  from 
his  mind,  for  he  caught  sight  of  Miriam  Hereford,  and  the 
beautiful  face,  with  its  Jewish  outlines,  which  had  so  long 
lived  in  his  heart,  set  every  pulse  within  him  throbbing 
wildly,  and  for  the  time  made  him  forget  the  hopeless 
barrier  that  divided  them.  He  had  followed  her  home  by 
an  irresistible  impulse,  and  her  glance  of  surprised  recogni- 
tion, the  eager  light  in  her  eyes,  her  impetuous  movement 
towards  him,  filled  him  with  delight.  He  slept  little,  and 
the  next  morning  his  feet  seemed  to  turn  naturally  in  the 
direction  of  Wilton  Crescent.  He  paced  slowly  past  the 
house,  then  returning,  was  just  in  time  to  catch  sight  of 
General  Hereford's  portly  figure  descending  the  steps,  in 
close  conversation  with  a  lady  in  a  long  sealskin  jacket; 
something  of  similarity  in  height  and  bearing  made  Des- 
mond feel  sure  that  this  must  be  Miriam's  mother.  He 
walked  after  them  at  a  discreet  distance  in  the  direction  of 
Victoria,  with  no  very  settled  purpose,  but  from  curiosity, 
and  from  his  acquired  habit  of  shadowing  people. 

Arrived  at  the  Metropolitan  station,  he  reached  the 
ticket  office  exactly  in  time  to  learn  the  destination  of 
Miriam's  parents,  took  a  ticket  himself  for  the  same  station, 
followed  them  down  the  steps,  and  kept  them  in  view  as 
they  paced  up  and  down  the  platform  waiting  for  the  train ; 
more  than  once  as  they  passed  him,  he  caught  Miriam's 
name.  It  was  quite  clear  that  the  absorbing  conversation 
related  to  her,  and  Desmond's  curiosity  became  more  and 
more  aroused.  He  did  not  venture  to  get  into  the  empty 
compartment,  however,  towards  which  the  General  steered 


DOREEN  163 

his  way.  He  got,  instead,  into  the  adjoining  one,  where, 
though  effectually  hidden  from  view,  he  could,  when  the 
train  was  not  in  motion,  distinctly  hear,  above  the  barrier, 
all  that  passed. 

"  I  told  her,"  said  the  General,  "  that  she  had  great  influ- 
ence with  Max.  She  has  only  to  draw  him  on  a  little,  and 
he  will  propose  fast  enough." 

"He  certainly  admires  her,"  said  his  wife.  "Nothing 
could  be  more  desirable  in  every  way  than  the  marriage; 
but  what  more  can  I  do  ?  She  is  thoroughly  wilful,  and  has 
refused  every  offer  she  has  received." 

"  She  was  not  unreasonable  last  night,  as  we  drove  home 
from  St.  James'  Hall,"  said  the  General.  "  You  had  better 
get  her  invited  to  Monkton  Verney  for  Easter,  and,  unless  I 
am  much  mistaken,  she  will  yield  to  our  wishes.  Miriam 
is  a  sensible  —  " 

But  here  the  train  plunged  into  the  echoing  subway,  and 
Desmond  heard  no  more.  He  had  heard  enough,  however, 
to  fill  him  with  uneasy  compunction.  What  was  he  to  do  ? 
To  dream  of  marriage  with  Miriam  was  absurd.  His  whole 
past  cut  him  off  from  any  such  possibility,  nor  did  he  feel 
disposed  to  break  with  his  present  mode  of  life,  even  could 
he  with  safety  have  done  so.  Should  he  see  her  once  more 
and  explain  to  her  the  hopelessness  of  the  barrier  between 
them  ?  Unfortunately  that  was  impossible ;  there  was  too 
much  that  lie  was  quite  unable  to  reveal.  And,  moreover, 
to  be  brought  face  to  face  with  each  other  would  be  but  an 
ill  preparation  for  the  final  parting.  Yet  somehow,  he 
must  prevent  her  from  sacrificing  her  whole  life,  must  at 
all  costs  free  her  from  any  lingering  bondage  to  that  past 
dream  of  love.  He  would  write  to  her,  would  lead  her  to 
think  that  her  marriage  with  Max  Hereford  was  what  he 
most  desired.  And  in  truth  he  could  better  bear  to  think 
of  her  as  wedded  to  his  old  pupil,  than  as  leading  a  forlorn 
life,  and  constantly  incurring  the  displeasure  of  her  parents. 
She  was  hopelessly  lost  to  him.  Why  should  she  not 
marry  Max?    He  would,  at  any  rate,  take  good  care  of 

m2 


l64  DOREEJSr 

her,  and  fill  her  life  with  every  luxury  that  wealth  could 
buy. 

Making  his  way  back  to  his  dreary  lodging,  he  spent  the 
rest  of  the  morning  in  the  attempt  to  write  what  would  in 
some  degree  satisfy  him,  but  with  small  success ;  in  the  end 
he  was  obliged  to  content  himself  with  the  following  lines :  — 

"  Last  night,  after  an  absence  of  nine  years  and  a  half,  I 
saw  you  once  more,  but  had  imagined  that  time  had  altered 
me  too  much  for  recognition  on  your  part  to  be  possible. 
That  you  knew  me  and  would  have  spoken  to  me  gives  me 
a  strange  pleasure,  even  though  I  write  this  expressly  to 
beg  that  you  will  do  your  best  to  forget  me  and  to  forget 
that  I  ever  had  the  presumption  to  love  you.  The  barrier 
of  which  I  told  you  at  Castle  Karey  will  always  exist,  and 
there  are  now  other  reasons  which  make  it  impossible  for 
me  to  remain  long  in  this  country,  or  to  venture  ever  again 
to  see  you.  My  life  is  not  wholly  unhappy,  for  I  have  work 
which  interests  me,  nor  have  I  to  look  forward  to  a  dreary 
old  age,  for  those  who  adopt  my  present  pursuit  are  seldom 
long-lived.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  see  my  old  pupil,  but  you 
might  casually  mention  to  him  that  you  have  met  me,  and 
that  I  am  still  in  the  land  of  the  living.  I  am  told  that  he 
is  one  of  our  most  promising  public  speakers  ;  if  so,  a  man 
with  his  advantages  ought  to  have  a  grand  future  before 
him.  If  he  should  some  day  win  that  which  I  have  been 
forced  to  relinquish,  I  shall  bear  him  no  grudge ;  on  the 
contrary,  it  would  brighten  the  remainder  of  my  life  to  think 
that  you  were  at  least  established  in  a  home  not  unworthy 
of  you.     And  now,  for  the  last  time,  I  wish  you  good-bye." 

The  effect  of  the  sudden  shock  of  the  previous  night  had 
been  to  keep  Miriam  in  bed  for  the  next  four-and-twenty 
hours  with  a  severe  headache.  Being  a  person  of  leisure, 
she  yielded  rather  easily  to  any  slight  ailment.  Doreen, 
with  a  similar  amount  of  pain,  would  have  gone  about  her 
work,  travelled,  perhaps,  a  couple  of  hundred  miles,  sung 
the  same  evening,  and  rattled  home  again  the  next  day,  en- 
during the  discomfort  as  best  she  could.     But  Miriam  had 


DOREEN  165 

not  herself  and  four  brothers  and  sisters  to  support ;  she 
was  at  present  supplied  with  every  luxury  in  her  father's 
house,  and  the  only  thing  he  expected  of  her  in  return  was 
that  eventually  she  should  marry  a  rich  man. 

It  happened,  therefore,  that  she  received  John  Desmond's 
letter  alone,  and  in  her  own  room,  and  that  she  had  ample 
time  to  muse  over  the  strangely  worded  communication. 
What  his  life-endangering  work  might  be  she  could  not 
guess ;  possibly  it  was  some  sort  of  scientific  research,  likely 
to  enfeeble  his  health.  As  for  the  barrier,  she  fancied  that 
could  only  mean  money  or  debt,  for  of  any  other  difficulties 
she  knew  nothing.  There  was,  however,  an  absolute  hope- 
lessness about  the  tone  of  the  brief  note  which  made  her 
feel  that  she  must,  indeed,  do  her  best  to  obey  him  and  to 
bury  the  past  in  oblivion.  It  was  strange  that  he,  too, 
should  harp  upon  this  same  notion  of  her  ultimate  marriage 
with  her  cousin.  Could  it,  indeed,  be  that  she  and  Max 
were  suited  to  each  other  ?  She  had  great  influence  with 
him,  it  was  true,  but  in  her  secret  soul  she  much  doubted 
whether  her  influence  was  for  good  or  ill.  And  then  there 
was  Doreen  O'Ryan.  Did  he,  after  all,  care  for  her  ?  And 
was  it  only  her  fancy  that  Doreen,  who  was  so  sunny  and 
light-hearted  at  all  times,  became  just  a  little  more  bright 
and  witty  whenever  Max  was  present?  That  her  eyes 
became  distinctly  bluer,  that  a  sort  of  glow  came  into  her 
usually  pale  face,  that  her  very  voice  had  a  more  mellow 
ring  about  it  ?  Surely  it  was  no  fancy,  the  girl  did  care  ; 
and  Max,  if  he  meant  nothing  by  his  attentions,  had  cer- 
tainly treated  her  very  badly.  No  ;  she  would  not  step  in 
between  them,  even  to  please  her  father  and  mother ;  she 
would  not  be  made  the  cat's-paw  to  bring  the  wealth  of  Monk- 
ton  Verney  to  her  father's  assistance.  After  all,  she  cared 
for  Max  far  too  much  to  marry  him  just  for  his  estate.  John 
Desmond  should  be  obeyed;  she  would  do  her  best  to  forget 
the  past,  but  nothing  should  induce  her  to  draw  her  cousin 
on  in  any  way,  or  to  promote  the  scheme  which  her  parents 
so  ardently  desired. 


i66  DOREEAT 

Miriam  had  many  faults,  but  she  had  good  impulses,  and 
she  not  unfrequently  followed  them.  A  knock  at  her  bed- 
room door  made  her  thrust  Desmond's  letter  hastily  beneath 
her  pillow ;  she  looked  up  with  a  smile  at  her  mother. 

"  Are  you  better,  my  dear  ?  "  said  Lady  Rachel,  anxiously. 

*^  Yes,  mamma,  but  I  have  not  felt  warm  since  last  night's 
concert.     I  must  have  caught  cold  on  the  way  home." 

"  There  is  great  news  for  you,"  said  her  mother.  "  Your 
father  has  just  heard  that  the  Dissolution  is  to  take  place 
at  Easter.  It  is  much  sooner  than  was  generally  expected. 
In  a  few  weeks,  you  see,  we  shall  be  in  the  thick  of  the 
General  Election.  I  am  going  to  write  this  evening  to  your 
aunt,  and  propose  that  you  go  down  with  her  to  Monkton 
Verney.  She  will  have  a  number  of  people  to  entertain, 
and  constant  coming  and  going,  and  it  is  just  at  those  times 
that  she  so  much  needs  some  one  to  play  the  part  of  daughter 
of  the  house." 

"Mamm^,"  said  Miriam,  decidedly,  "I  am  very  sorry, 
but  nothing  will  induce  me  to  go  to  Monkton  Verney  for 
such  an  early  Easter  as  we  have  this  year.  Why,  Good 
Friday  is  on  the  26th  of  March !  Just  think  what  the  cold 
will  be  in  that  country  house  ! " 

"  Oh,  they  will  warm  the  house ;  and  besides,  you  will 
have  very  good  fun  at  the  election.  You  had  better  go, 
my  dear ;  your  father  particularly  wishes  it." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Miriam,  piteously,  "  please  do  not  write, 
to  auntie.  I  know  why  you  wish  it  so  much,  but  don't 
urge  me  just  now.  I  shall  only  hate  Max  forever,  if  I 
have  to  listen  to  all  his  election  speeches.  That  sort  of 
thing  bores  me  to  death.  Do  let  us  keep  out  of  it.  Take 
me  abroad,  and  let  us  have  a  nice  time  on  the  Riviera  while 
they  are  all  talking  themselves  hoarse  here.  And,  then, 
next  season,  if  Max  gets  into  Parliament,  I  will  perhaps 
think  of  what  you  so  much  want." 

^'  We  only  want  your  good,  my  dear,  and  your  best  hap- 
piness," said  her  mother,  reluctantly  consenting  to  her 
suggestion  as  she  left  the  room. 


DOREEN  167 

"  My  best  happiaess  ?  "  repeated  Miriam  to  herself  half 
dreamily.     "  I  wonder  what  my  best  happiness  would  be  ?  " 

And  then  in  fancy  she  saw  the  announcement  in  the 
newspapers :  — 

"  A  marriage  has  been  arranged  between  Mr.  Max  Here- 
ford, M.P.,  and  Miss  Miriam  Hereford,  his  cousin,  the  only 
daughter  of  General  Hereford." 

Or  again,  it  might  be  :  — 

"  A  marriage  is  shortly  to  take  place  between  Mr.  Max 
Hereford,  M.P.,  and  Miss  Doreen  O'Ryan,  the  charming 
and  popular  Irish  vocalist." 

She  caught  herself  humming  a  qiiaint  little  song  which 
Madame  De  Berg  had  given  as  an  encore  at  the  concert. 

*'  I  know  not,  no,  not  I,  where  joy  is  fomid  I " 

Suddenly  she  drew  Desmond's  letter  again  from  beneath 
her  pillow;  she  read  it  slowly,  lingeringly,  —  read  some- 
thing of  his  love  for  her  between  the  lines,  —  and  then 
suddenly  broke  into  a  passionate  fit  of  weeping. 

"It  is  all  very  well  for  mamma  to  talk  of  my  best  happi- 
ness," she  thought  to  herself.  "  The  only  rag  of  happiness 
left  to  me  is  not  to  interfere  with  the  happiness  of  other 
people." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

"  If  sadness  at  the  long  heart- wasting  show 
Wherein  earth's  great  ones  are  disquieted ; 
K  thoughts,  not  idle,  while  before  me  flow 
The  armies  of  the  homeless  and  unfed  — 
If  these  are  yours,  if  this  is  what  you  are, 
Then  am  I  yours,  and  what  you  feel  I  share." 

Matthew  Arnold. 

On  the  Saturday  afternoon  after  the  news  of  the  Disso- 
lution had  been  made  public,  it  chanced  that  Doreen  was 
travelling  back  from  Southampton,  where  she  had  been  to 
sing  in  Haydn's  "Creation."  Ferrier,  the  well-known 
bass,  and  her  old  friend  Warren,  the  tenor,  who  now  treated 
her  with  the  greatest  deference,  and  no  longer  ventured  to 
offer  her  three  guineas  for  singing  at  a  city  dinner,  —  were 
in  the  adjoining  smoking-compartment ;  they  had  laughingly 
supplied  Doreen  with  all  the  Liberal  papers,  had  seen  that 
she  was  well  wrapped  up  with  a  railway  rug  and  provided 
with  a  foot-warmer,  and  then,  to  her  great  content,  had 
left  her  in  the  empty  compartment  to  her  own  thoughts. 
She  wanted  much  to  be  alone  and  to  have  time  to  think, 
for  the  news  had  taken  her  altogether  by  surprise.  Max 
had  always  imagined  that  the  General  Election  would  be 
in  the  autumn,  and  this  sudden  announcement  had  almost 
taken  her  breath  away.  It  had  filled  her  with  hope  for  her 
country,  and  it  had  come  at  a  very  opportune  moment  in 
her  own  personal  life.  In  April  that  four  years  of  waiting 
for  which  she  had  stipulated  wpuld  come  to  an  end,  and  she 
felt  that  in  every  way  it  would  be  better  for  her  engage- 

168 


DO  KEEN  169 

ment  with  Max  to  follow  rather  than  to  precede  the  elec- 
tion. Her  four  years  of  public  life  had  taught  her  to 
know  the  world  tolerably  well,  and  she  was  convinced  that 
she  would  best  consult  her  lover's  interests  by  adhering 
strictly  to  the  term  of  probation. 

Yet  it  was  with  a  sigh  of  glad  relief  that  she  realized 
how  nearly  the  tedious  waiting-time  was  over.  The  years 
had  been  happy,  yet  they  had  been  beset  with  difficulties ; 
and  with  an  absolute  trust  in  Max,  she  looked  forward  to 
her  betrothal  as  to  a  haven  of  rest  and  peace. 

Her  face  lighted  up  with  happiness  as  they  drew  near  to 
Firdale,  and  as  once  more  she  looked  forth  on  the  green 
meadows  and  the  white  tower  of  the  church  and  the  long 
avenue  of  elms  on  the  ridge  in  the  background.  The 
familiar  little  station  seemed  more  crowded  than  usual ;  a 
group  of  townsfolk  had  apparently  come  to  meet  some 
person  of  importance,  and  she  was  engrossed  in  watching 
the  fussy  movements  of  a  little,  officious,  red-faced  man  who 
was  giving  a  most  obsequious  welcome  to  the  newcomer, 
when  suddenly  she  was  startled  by  Max  Hereford's  voice. 

"  Is  there  any  room  for  me  ?  "  he  said,  with  his  hand  on 
the  door.  His  fresh,  glowing  face  looked  to  her  almost  as 
boyish  as  it  had  done  in  the  old  Irish  days. 

"  I  thought  you  were  in  town ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  he 
sprang  in  and  took  a  place  beside  her,  holding  her  hand  in 
his,  with  a  momentary  glad  pressure  of  greeting. 

"  I  was  obliged  to  run  down  yesterday  to  see  my  election 
agent,"  he  explained.  "  And  I  was  not  without  hope  that  I 
might  chance  to  meet  you  on  your  way  back  from  South- 
ampton. To  find  you  like  this,  and  without  your  usual 
duenna,  is  indeed  good  luck." 

"  I  was  staying  with  some  friends  of  ours  who  live  there, 
and  so  could  dispense  with  Mrs.  Muchmore,"  said  Doreen, 
who,  the  moment  she  could  afford  it,  had  been  careful  al- 
ways to  take  Hagar  about  with  her,  unless  she  was  secure  of 
Madame  St.  Pierre's  company.  "  Who  is  that  very  grave- 
looking  man  that  every  one  is  making  so  much  o^  7  " 


170  DO  KEEN 

"That,"  said  Max,  laughing,  '^is  my  rival,  Mr.  John 
Steele,  and  the  small  crowd  of  his  supporters  is  made  up 
of  the  oddest  mixture  of  Firdale  scribes  and  Pharisees, 
publicans  and  sinners." 

"  Is  he  popular  ?     He  looks  a  most  depressing  person." 

"  Oh,  he  is  extremely  popular ;  it  will  be  a  hard  fight, "  said 
Max.  "It  will  be  easy  enough  for  him  to  make  the  Firdale 
folk  believe  that  their  future  welfare  is  bound  up  with  the 
consumption  of  beer,  and  that  it  is  absurd  for  them  to  be 
represented  by  a  notorious  temperance  worker.  By  the 
bye,  what  colour  shall  we  choose  ?  I  see  they  have  already 
donned  red  and  blue  rosettes." 

"  What  is  your  favourite  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  White,"  he  said ;  "  which  you  will  say  is  no  colour  at 
all.     Now  put  your  favourite  with  it." 

"  Oh,  I  am  for  the  wearing  of  the  green,"  she  said,  laugh- 
ing.    "  That  is  but  natural." 

"Very  well,  that  is  decided;  green  and  white,  but  none 
of  their  grass  greens  or  apple  greens.  It  must  be  one  of 
the  new  greens — the  shade  of  that  dress  you  wore  last 
summer." 

She  smiled  to  think  that  he  should  remember  it,  and  in 
her  heart  she  was  j^leased.  There  was  a  brief  silence  as 
the  train  slowly  steamed  out  of  the  station,  leaving  the 
Conservative  candidate  looking  somewhat  uncomfortable 
and  oppressed  amid  the  motley  crew  surrounding  him. 

"  Do  you  remember,"  said  Max,  in  a  tone  which  startled 
her,  "  the  promise  you  made  me  ?  " 

"  Which  ?  "  she  said,  laughing  and  blushing.  "  I  have 
made  you  so  many  promises.  I  have  not  forgotten  that  I 
promised  to  sing  as  much  as  you  liked  during  the  election, 
and  I  have  a  delightful  song  which  will  be  exactly  the  right 
thing  if  I  can  get  the  composer's  permission  to  sing  it." 

"  Then  you  will  certainly  win  the  election  for  me,"  he 
said.  "But  it  was  of  another  promise  I  was  thinking. 
Doreen,  why  must  we  wait  any  longer  ?     Why  —  can  you 


DOREEN  171 

"  Stay,"  she  said,  springing  up,  and  crossing  to  the  other 
side  of  the  carriage.  "  There  is  Rooksbury.  I  never  pass 
this  bit  of  the  line  without  looking  at  it.  After  the  elec- 
tion we  will  climb  it  once  more.  I  do  not,  indeed,  break  my 
promises ;  but  please  have  patience  till  then."  Her  eyes, 
blue  and  tender  and  a  little  wistful,  were  lifted  to  his. 

"  You  think  I  am  going  to  be  beaten  by  the  Publicans' 
favourite,"  he  said,  smiling ;  "  and  you  keep  the  Rooksbury 
expedition  as  a  consolation  prize  for  the  vanquished." 

"  No,  quite  the  contrary ;  nothing  will  persuade  me  that 
Mr.  John  Steele  is  going  to  defeat  you ;  but  when  you  have 
won  the  battle,  you  may  perhaps  look  on  life  with  other 
eyes." 

She  took  one  final  look  at  the  fir-crowned  hill,  then 
returned  to  her  former  place. 

"Did  you  look  on  life  with  other  eyes  after  your  suc- 
cess ?  "  said  Max,  moodily. 

"  Well  —  no;"  she  admitted,  after  a  pause.  "  I  don't 
know  that  I  did ;  but  men  are  different." 

"I  thought  you  were  the  one  woman  in  the  world  who 
did  not  pass  sweeping  judgments  on  men." 

"  I  don't  judge  them ;  I  don't  say  that  they  are  not  so 
constant  as  women,  but  that  they  have  a  greater  capacity 
for  seeing  more  than  one  side  of  a  question." 

"There  was  more  than  a  little  touch  of  blarney  about 
that,"  said  MaXj  unable  to  help  laughing  at  her  expression. 
"  Well,  I  will  be  patient  if  you  bid  me." 

"You.  will  keep  your  promise,"  said  Doreen,  with  a 
mischievous  glance,  "and  I,  for  my  part,  shall  keep  mine." 

She  did  not,  however,  make  any  resistance  when  he  took 
her  little  ungloved  hand  in  his  and  kissed  it,  only  defending 
herself  by  asking  a  prosaic  question  or  two  about  the  prob- 
able date  of  the  Firdale  election,  and  the  ways  in  which  she 
might  be  of  use  to  Mrs.  Hereford." 

"Perhaps,  however,"  she  added,  "your  cousin  will  be 
staying  at  Monkton  Verney;  she  must  know  so  many  of 
the  people  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  would  be  a  muclj 
better  helper," 


172  DOREEN 

"  Unluckily,"  he  said,  "  she  detests  the  whole  affair,  and  I 
heard  only  yesterday  from  my  uncle  that  they  are  all  going 
next  week  to  Hyeres.  By  the  bye,  Miriam  wrote  to  tell  me  a 
curious  thing :  it  seems  that  John  Desmond  is  in  England 
once  more  ;  she  saw  him  in  the  street.  He  just  raised  his 
hat  to  her,  but  seemed  anxious  to  avoid  speaking.  One  can 
understand  that  well  enough.  There  is  no  doubt  he  was  in 
love  with  Miriam  in  the  old  days;  I  only  trust  she  doesn't 
care  for  him.  It  is  hardly  likely  after  all  these  years,  — 
there  are  limits,  I  suppose,  even  to  the  constancy  of 
women." 

Doreen  laughed  and  promptly  changed  the  subject,  not 
at  all  desiring  to  relapse  into  a  discussion  which  she  had 
purposely  checked.  And  so  they  travelled  swiftly  through 
the  long,  undulating  stretches  of  sandy  country,  with  its 
heathery  banks  and  dark  fir  trees,  talking  contentedly,  and 
enjoying  to  the  full  the  unusual  chance  of  a  quiet  interview 
that  had  fallen  to  them. 

"  Madame  St.  Pierre  would  scold  me  well  were  she  here," 
said  Doreen,  as  they  drew  near  to  London.  "  She  has  a 
dreadful  theory  that  public  singers  should  not  tax  their 
throats  by  talking  in  the  train.  I  tell  her  that  an  exception 
must  be  made  in  favour  of  Irishwomen,  who  could  not  pos- 
sibly sit  mum  throughout  a  whole  journey.  How  wonder- 
ful it  is  to  think  that  the  next  time  we  travel  this  line 
together  the  election  will  be  over  !  " 

She  broke  off  abruptly  as  the  thought  suddenly  flashed 
through  her  mind  that  the  next  time  Max  helped  her  on  to 
the  platform  at  Waterloo  she  would  in  all  probability  be 
betrothed  to  him.  Her  cheeks  were  still  tinged  with  the 
blush  that  had  suffused  them  at  this  thought,  when  Ferrier 
came  to  the  door  to  offer  to  put  her  into  a  cab.  He  knew 
Max  Hereford,  having  met  him  once  or  twice  at  Bernard 
Street ;  but  to-day  a  latent  suspicion  that  had  long  haunted 
him  became  a  certainty.  He  sedulously  waited  upon  Doreen, 
forstalled  Max  in  taking  possession  of  her  travelling-bag, 
^lid  i|i  fatherly  fashion  waited  till  she  was  safely  eusconce4 


DOREEN  173 

in  a  hansom,  then  made  his  way  homeward  with  a  somewhat 
grave  and  preoccupied  air. 

"A  nice  enough  fellow,"  he  thought  to  himself.  "But 
our  little  Irish  prima  donna  will  be  lost  to  the  profession." 

Doreen  found  on  her  return  a  complication  of  family 
duties  and  an  alarming  pile  of  letters  to  be  answered.  Till 
twelve  on  that  Saturday  night  she  was  hard  at  work,  and 
she  slept  late  on  the  Sunday  morning,  —  not  an  ideal  thing 
to  do,  or  at  all  in  accordance  with  a  model  heroine,  but  yet 
a  natural  enough  proceeding  on  the  part  of  an  overworked 
artiste,  whose  severely  taxed  strength  required  more  sleep 
than  it  was  ever  likely  to  get.  Uncle  and  Aunt  Garth,  with 
their  lives  of  steady  routine  and  rooted  habit  of  waking  in 
the  early  morning,  failed  to  understand  how  greatly  this 
girl  of  two-and-twenty  needed  sleep,  and  how  impossible 
it  was  for  her,  after  the  brain-exciting  work  she  had  been 
through,  to  sleep  as  they  did  during  the  first  watch  of  the 
night.  But  shrewd  Hagar  Muchmore  understood  without 
any  scientific  training  to  help  her;  and  on  Sunday  mornings, 
the  only  time  when  Doreen  could  afford  to  have  her  sleep 
out,  Hagar  was  a  veritable  dragon,  silencing  the  least 
attempt  at  noise  on  the  part  of  the  children  with  a  sen- 
tence that  made  them  feel  like  criminals  of  the  deepest 
dye.  "  Can't  you  be  quiet  for  one  hour  and  let  your  sister 
have  her  sleep  out,  when  she  is  toiling  for  you  from  week's 
end  to  week's  end  ?  " 

The  good  woman's  face  was  comical  to  behold  when,  on  the 
morning  after  Doreen's  return  from  Southampton,  Michael 
stole  softly  upstairs  with  the  news  that  little  Una  Kingston 
had  already  arrived. 

"Why,  it's  but  nine  o'clock!"  she  exclaimed.  "And  I 
never  think  of  disturbing  Miss  Doreen  till  half-past  on  a 
Sunday.  Whatever  can  have  made  her  come  at  this  hour 
of  the  morning  ?  " 

"Devotion  to  Doreen,"  said  Michael;  " and  I  believe  she 
was  told  to  come  as  early  as  she  liked." 

"  Is  it  Donal  that's  come  ?  "  shouted  Bride,  in  her  loudest 


174  DOREEN 

and  most  penetrating  voice,  running  out  from  the  nursery 
in  high  glee;  whereupon  Doreen,  roused  at  once,  opened 
her  door  and  laughed  to  see  the  energetic  way  in  which  the 
boys  suppressed  poor  Bride. 

"  I  do  believe,"  said  Michael,  "  you  have  voice  enough  to 
fill  the  Albert  Hall ! " 

"Don't  scold  her;  it's  high  time  I  was  awake,"  said 
Doreen.     "  Did  you  say  Donal  had  come  ?  " 

"No,  it's  the  infant  prodigy,"  said  Michael.  "The 
prettiest  little  girl  I  ever  saw,  but  seems  to  think  every  one 
is  an  ogre  in  the  house  except  you." 

"Bring  her  to  the  nursery;  I'll  be  ready  in  ten  minutes. 
And,  Mollie,  make  an  extra  slice  or  two  of  toast ;  I  daresay 
she  will  like  a  second  breakfast." 

So  Una  was  piloted  upstairs  by  the  boys,  of  whom  she 
was  desperately  afraid,  into  the  snuggest  little  room  she 
had  ever  seen.  Even  the  two  little  girls  made  her  shy, 
however ;  for  she  had  been  so  long  cut  off  from  child  life 
that  she  hardly  knew  what  to  make  of  her  own  contempo- 
raries. Fortunately,  no  O'Ryan  was  ever  troubled  with 
shyness,  and  Mollie  and  Bride  gave  her  the  warmest  of 
welcomes,  relieved  her  of  her  hat  and  jacket,  and  politely 
inquired  if  she  liked  making  toast. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Una ;  "  we  never  had  toast  in  Ger- 
many." 

"  That's  a  mercy,"  said  Michael ;  "  everything  is  made  in 
Germany  nowadays,  till  one  gets  quite  tired  of  the  words. 
I'm  glad  they  leave  the  toast-making  to  us." 

"Try,"  said  Mollie,  courteously  relinquishing  the  much- 
treasured  toasting-fork.  "  It's  such  fun  making  it.  Bride 
^  and  me  always  make  it  on  Sunday  mornings  for  Doreen, 
and  she  lets  us  get  her  breakfast  ready  up  here,  so  as  not  to 
bother  the  servants.  Sunday  is  the  nicest  day  in  the  whole 
week ;  we  see  much  more  of  Doreen,  and  she  never  writes 
letters  or  does  anything  horrid,  but  just  rests,  and  gives  us 
a  good  time." 

"  Did  you  come  so  early  to  go  to  church  with  us  ?  "  asked 


DOREEN  175 

four-year-old  Bride,  with  the  unabashed  directness  of  her 
age. 

Una  blushed  and  hesitated.     "  Do  you  go  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Doreen  always  takes  us  in  the  morning  to  Mr.  Osmond's 
church ;  but  we  don't  stay  as  long  as  she  and  auntie  do,  you 
know,  and  it's  really  rather  nice.  Then  we  come  out,  and 
uncle  takes  us  for  a  walk  till  dinner,"  said  Mollie. 

"  Which  church  do  you  go  to  ?  "  asked  Bride,  in  her  em- 
phatic voice,  her  rosy,  babyish  little  face  beaming  upon  shy 
Una.  "  The  boys  go  to  the  Oratory,  and  Hagar  to  the  Con- 
gregational." 

"  I  have  never  been  in  London,"  said  the  little  violinist, 
colouring,  "and  I  never  used  to  go  in  Germany  till  I  read 
Schiller's  ^Wandelnde  Glocke,'  and  was  afraid  the  bell 
might  come  to  fetch  me." 

"To  fetch  you?"  said  Bride,  with  dilated  eyes.  And 
Una  was  beguiled  into  telling  them  the  legend,  until,  what 
with  toast-making  and  talking,  she  had  quite  forgotten  her 
fears.  Then  Doreen  came  in,  bright  and  cheery  as  ever, 
with  a  welcome  which  made  the  child's  heart  throb  with 
delight,  and  the  merriest  of  breakfasts  followed,  Una  dis- 
covering that  for  once  she  really  was  hungry,  and  that  there 
was  something  in  toast  one  had  made  oneself  that  was 
specially  good.  Perhaps  she  had  never  in  her  life  been  so 
happy  as  she  was  that  afternoon,  when  Doreen  took  her 
down  to  the  Hospital  for  Incurables  on  Putney  Heath, 
where  she  often  used  to  sing  on  Sunday  to  the  patients. 
To  be  alone  in  a  hansom  with  her  new  friend,  to  be  al- 
lowed to  slip  her  little  forlorn  hand  into  the  comforting 
clasp  of  those  motherly  fingers,  to  open  her  heart  to  one 
who  would  understand  and  sympathize  with  her,  seemed 
to  Una  the  perfection  of  bliss.  Then,  too,  the  spring  day 
was  as  full  of  quiet  beauty  as  a  mild  day  in  February  can 
be,  and  it  was  rapture,  after  the  imprisoned  life  she  had 
led  of  late,  to  drink  in  the  fresh  air,  and  to  feel  that  for 
once  that  she  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  enjoy  herself. 

"  Do  you  always  come  here  on  Sundays  ?  "  she  asked. 


176  DOREEN 

"Not  always  to  this  hospital,  but  generally  to  some  hos- 
pital or  infirmary  when  I  am  in  London.  You  see  it  is  the 
only  way  in  which  I  can  give  at  present." 

"I  never  somehow  thought  about  giving,"  said  Una, 
musingly.  "  I  wish,  oh,  how  I  wish,  you  would  sometimes 
let  me  come  too,  and  bring  my  violin.  Do  you  think  the 
people  would  like  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  they  would,  but  I  am  not  sure  that  you  ought 
not  to  keep  your  Sundays  quite  free  from  anything  that 
might  tire  you,  for  you  are  very  young  for  public  life." 

"Oh,  that  would  not  tire  me;  it  is  just  perfect  rest  and 
happiness  to  be  with  you,"  said  Una,  with  such  a  sincerity 
of  devotion,  that  Doreen  hardly  knew  whether  to  smile  or 
to  cry. 

"Well,  that  is  a  very  easily  attainable  piece  of  happi- 
ness," she  said,  with  a  kindly  glance  at  the  little  fragile 
face.  "  You  can  come  and  spend  every  Sunday  with  me  if 
you  like." 

The  child's  face  lighted  up  until  all  the  signs  of  over- 
pressure and  care  had  utterly  vanished,  and  it  was  once 
again  the  face  of  a  child,  radiant  and  unclouded  and  aglow 
with  happiness.  Doreen  gradually  learnt  to  understand  her 
completely,  for  little  by  little  Una  told  the  whole  story  of 
her  past  life. 

It  seemed  that  from  her  earliest  childhood  Madame 
De  Berg  had  been  her  evil  genius.  Of  her  mother  she  had 
no  recollection  whatever ;  she  and  her  father  had  lived  as 
best  they  could  a  more  or  less  nomadic  life,  and  she  had 
had  a  succession  of  nurses  and  nursery  governesses,  with  all 
of  whom  Madame  De  Berg  had  ultimately  quarrelled. 

"  Cousin  Flora  used  to  swoop  down  upon  us  unexpect- 
edly," said  Una,  "to  see,  she  said,  that  all  was  going  on 
well;  but  somehow  her  coming  always  set  things  wrong, 
and  just  as  I  had  grown  fond  of  my  governess  or  my  honne 
she  was  dismissed.  Then  for  a  year  we  lived  with  Cousin 
Flora  at  St.  John's  Wood.  I  was  always  so  dreadfully 
afraid  of  her,  and  just  to  avoid  one  of  her  scoldings  got 


DOREEN^  177 

into  the  way  of  telling  lies ;  even  now  she  can  terrify  mo 
into  saying  almost  anything,  and  yet  there  is  nothing  that 
one  can  exactly  complain  of.  She  never  punishes  me ;  it  is 
only  her  dreadful  tongue ;  but  I  would  rather  any  day  be 
whipped  than  scolded  by  her.  I  never  told  my  father, 
having  a  sort  of  notion  that  grown-up  people  always  stood 
by  each  other,  and  I  was  afraid  I  should  never  be  able  to 
make  him  understand  how  miserable  I  was.  Perhaps  he 
guessed  a  little,  for  four  years  ago  last  Christmas  he  took 
me  to  Germany  to  study  under  Herr  Koner.  They  were 
very  kind  to  me  at  Leipzig.  Of  course,  Frau  Muller  may 
have  cared  mostly,  as  Cousin  Flora  says,  for  the  money  she 
received  for  my  board,  but  I  think  she  did  care  for  me,  too, 
a  little.  The  food  was  not  very  good ;  but  then  she  was 
poor,  and  had  a  married  daughter  who  was  always  in 
trouble.  And  she  was  very  kind,  and  at  the  Christmas  tree 
would  put  quite  a  number  of  presents  on  my  table.  Cousin 
Flora  says  that  was  good  policy,  to  keep  me  from  complain- 
ing of  the  food.  Do  you  think  people  are  always  kind  just 
from  self-interest  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  Doreen.  "  That  is  a  horrible  creed, 
and  I  could  give  you  a  hundred  instances  to  the  contrary, 
where  people  have  been  kind,  though  it  was  to  their  own 
hindrance.     Was  your  father  with  you  in  Germany  ?  " 

''Only  in  my  holiday  time ;  then  we  used  to  travel  about, 
and  sometimes  I  was  very  happy,  though  often  it  was  lonely 
in  the  hotels.  I  had  a  doll,  though,  that  was  just  like  a 
real  child  to  me,  and  I  used  to  pretend  I  was  a  very  young 
widow,  and  was  always  begging  my  father  to  buy  me  a 
black  dress.  He  never  would,  though ;  men  seldom  seem 
to  like  black,"  and  Una  looked  down  at  her  mourning  attire 
with  an  acute  perception  of  how  much  her  father  would 
have  disliked  it. 

"Was  it  in  Germany  that  Mr.  Kingston  died?"  asked 
Doreen. 

"Yes;  it  was  last  September,  at  Baden.  I  had  played 
there  at  a  concert,  and  all  had  gone  well.     He  was  very 


t7S  DOREElsr 

much  pleased  that  night,  and  kept  speaking  of  plans  for 
the  future;  how,  when  my  education  was  finished,  we 
would  travel  about  the  world  together.  But  the  next 
morning  he  was  too  ill  to  get  up,  and  the  doctor  sent  a 
sister  to  nurse  him.  She  was  very  kind  to  me,  and  she  did 
all  that  could  be  done  for  him,  —  only  always  it  made  me 
unhappy  to  look  at  her,  because  I  was  so  afraid  it  would 
some  day  perhaps  seem  to  be  my  duty,  too,  to  become  a 
sister  and  wear  those  dreadful  clothes,  and  never  play  my 
violin  again.  You  don't  think  it  ever  could,  do  you  ? " 
she  added,  looking  up  with  her  wide,  gray  eyes  full  of 
anxiety. 

"  No,"  said  Doreen ;  "  I  think  it  is  clearly  your  vocation 
to  play  the  violin."  Her  tone  of  quiet  decision  and  the  little 
sparkle  of  humour  in  her  blue  eyes  set  Una  at  rest,  and 
that  "  phantasm  of  the  conscience  "  was  laid  for  ever. 

"We  telegraphed  to  Cousin  Flora  and  her  husband  to 
come,"  she  continued ;  "  but  they  came  too  late.  He  died 
the  next  evening.  I  was  sitting  with  my  doll  by  the  open 
window,  the  room  had  grown  quite  dusk,  when  all  at  once 
he  called  to  me  from  the  bed,  and  asked  me  to  play  him 
'  Pieta  Signore.^  I  thought  he  must  be  much  better ;  for, 
when  I  took  the  violin  out  of  the  case,  —  his  own  violin, 
which  I  had  only  been  allowed  to  use  for  a  few  months,  — 
he  took  it  from  me  and  tuned  it  himself.  I  wish,  oh,  so 
much,  that  they  wouldn't  still  make  me  play  ^  Pieta  S ignore '  ; 
for  always  I  seem  to  see  again  the  room  at  Baden,  and  the 
sister  in  her  ugly  dress,  and  father's  face  looking  like 
marble  in  the  dim  light.  But  Herr  Eimmers  always  says 
it  is  one  of  my  best  things,  so  there  is  no  help  for  it. 
Father  gave  a  great  sigh  as  I  finished.  I  was  afraid  I  had 
disappointed  him ;  for,  indeed,  my  hands  were  cold,  and  I 
had  not  played  very  well.  But  when  I  put  down  the  violin 
and  stooped  down  to  kiss  him,  he  caught  me  in  his  arms ; 
*  I  am  proud  of  my  Herz  bldttchen,^  he  said,  and  then  sud- 
denly his  arms  fell  back  from  me,  and  the  sister  came 
quickly  forward,  and  somehow  from  her  face  I  understood 
that  this  was  death." 


DOREEN  179 

The  description  touched  a  chord  in  Doreen's  own  life; 
her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  her  heart  went  out  more  than 
ever  to  the  desolate  little  orphan  who  had  made  so  sudden 
a  claim  upon  her  affections.  By  this  time  they  had  reached 
their  destination  and  were  driving  along  the  pretty  ap- 
proach to  the  Home  for  Incurables,  with  its  lovely  glimpses 
of  distant  country.  Una  was  astonished  when  they  were 
shown  into  the  beautiful  building  to  see  that  the  faces  of 
the  patients  were,  as  a  rule,  wonderfully  bright,  and  that 
there  was  none  of  that  dreary  hopelessness  which  she  had 
anticipated.  Far  too  shy  to  speak  a  single  word,  she  fol- 
lowed Doreen  with  loving  admiration,  listening  to  her 
cheery  greetings  to  one  and  another,  and  then  sitting  in 
rapt  attention  to  listen  while  Doreen  sang  "Come  unto 
Him"  from  the  "Messiah,"  ending  with  two  or  three 
hymns  which  the  patients  liked  as  well  as  anything,  espe- 
cially the  familiar  Vesper  hymn  which  rang  in  Una's  ears 
all  the  way  home.  Surely,  she  thought,  the  words  "  union  " 
and  "  communion  "  had  that  day  gained  for  her  a  new  mean- 
ing, —  a  meaning  which  must  brighten  and  widen  her  whole 
life.  By  the  time  they  reached  Bernard  Street  tea  was 
ready,  —  not  on  Sundays  a  mere  drawing-room  affair,  but  a 
regular  children's  tea,  at  which  Mollie  and  Bride  were  wont 
to  consume  surprising  quantities  of  bread  and  jam  and 
sponge  cake.  Una,  though  much  afraid  of  Uncle  Garth, 
soon  found  that  the  presence  of  the  children  thawed  her 
shyness,  and  there  was  something  so  gentle  in  Mrs.  Garth's 
face  that  in  spite  of  a  certain  awe  inspired  by  her  quiet 
reserve  of  manner,  Una  felt  sure  that  she  should  love  her, 
and  was  perhaps  better  capable  in  some  ways  of  appreciat- 
ing her  character  than  Doreen,  whose  spontaneous  and 
demonstrative  Irish  nature  still  at  times  found  it  hard  to 
accommodate  itself  to  her  aunt's  reticence. 

Sundays  were  not  days  of  dull  routine  at  Bernard  Street, 
or  of  compulsory  idleness,  and  Una  entered  with  spirit  into 
the  matter  which  happened  to  be  absorbing  the  children's 
minds,  —  the  painting  and  pasting  and  cutting  out  pictures 

¥2 


i8o  DOREEN' 

for  a  scrap-book  destined  for  a  Christmas  tree  at  one  of  the 
"  Sailors'  Rests."  Aunt  Garth  in  the  mean  time  read  aloud 
to  them,  and  Una  found  Kingsley's  "Water  Babies"  so 
fascinating  that  she  could  hardly  bear  to  wait  a  whole  week 
for  the  next  reading.  When  Doreen  and  Michael  left  her 
at  the  door  of  Madame  De  Berg's  house,  she  felt  as  if  she 
were  coming  back  to  a  rather  dreary  earth,  having  had  a 
little  glimpse  into  another  and  much  brighter  region.  Her 
life  was  of  necessity  hard  and  wearing,  but  Doreen' s  thought- 
fulness  had  at  least  rescued  her  Sundays,  and  the  child 
looked  forward  to  them  as  — 

"Bright  shadows  of  true  rest.  .  .  . 
Heaven  once  a  week  ; 
The  next  world's  gladness  prepossest  in  this." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"What  is  wealth,  what  is  fame,  what  is  all  that  people  fight  about, 
To  a  kind  word  from  her  lips  or  a  love-glance  from  her  eye  ? 
Oh,  though  troubles  throng  my  breast,  sure,  they'd  soon  go  to  the 
right  about 
If  I  thought  the  curly  head  of  her  would  rest  there  by  and  by." 
Francis  A.  Fahy,  Irish  Love  Songs. 

On  returning  to  Bernard.  Street  that  evening,  Doreen  and 
Michael  found  that  Donal  Moore  had  just  arrived.  When 
he  was  in  London  he  not  unfrequently  dropped  in  on  Sun- 
days, knowing  that  he  would  probably  find  them  all  at 
home,  and  to  Doreen  there  was  always  a  sort  of  whimsical 
pleasure  in  watching  the  growth  of  that  curious  friendship 
which  gradually  sprang  up  between  Uncle  Garth,  the  hater 
of  change,  and  Donal  Moore,  the  ardent  Nationalist.  Some- 
times when  alone  she  would  laugh  aloud  at  the  comical 
recollection  of  the  contrast  between  their  faces,  or  of  the 
embarrassed  nervousness  of  Uncle  Garth's  aspect  when 
Michael,  who  had  a  way  of  blundering  into  awkward  topics 
with  charming  na%vet4  and  frankness,  only  excelled  by  four- 
year-old  Bride,  had  turned  the  talk  upon  Irish  matters.  It 
was  perhaps  as  well  that  Mr.  Garth  chanced  that  night  to 
be  kept  in  his  study  until  supper  time,  for  inevitably  the 
talk  turned  upon  the  coming  elections.  Donal  Moore  was 
in  excellent  spirits  and  was  confident  that  the  true  wishes 
of  Ireland  would  be  manifested  as  they  had  never  been 
manifested  before,  and  that  the  dawn  was  breaking. 

"  If  only  my  father  had  been  spared  for  this  time,"  said 
Doreen,  wistfully,  "  how  he  would  have  worked ! " 

181 


i82  DOREEN" 

"True,"  said  Donal;  "yet  one  who  knows  all  the  ins 
and  outs  of  political  life  could  hardly  wish  him  back  to  it. 
His  innate  love  of  fighting  would  have  kept  him  to  the  last 
in  the  thick  of  the  fray,  and  his  health  was  too  entirely 
shattered  to  have  stood  for  long  against  such  a  strain." 

"  And  how  was  it  shattered  ?  "  said  Doreen,  speaking  low 
and  quickly.  "  It  was  the  long  years  of  imprisonment  which 
killed  him,  and  he  was  imprisoned  merely  for  writing  words 
which  every  liberty-loving  Englishman  would  have  written, 
had  England  been  under  the  same  unjust  ^Castle'  system." 

"And  yet,"  said  Donal  Moore,  "ninety-nine  intelligent 
Englishmen  out  of  a  hundred  will  tell  you,  and  will  really 
believe,  that  Ireland  is  governed  as  England  is  governed." 

"Yes,  it  is  easy  enough  to  believe  anything  until  you 
inquire  into  facts  and  really  study  the  question,"  said 
Doreen.  "But  you  have  made  one  convert,  Donal,  —  at 
least  I  feel  pretty  confident  about  him,  —  and  that  is  Mr. 
Hereford." 

"  I  met  him  last  night  and  had  a  long  talk  with  him," 
said  Donal ;  "  but  he  is  your  convert,  my  dear,  not  mine ; 
he  vows  that  you  pledged  him  to  work  for  Ireland  when 
you  were  only  twelve  years  old." 

"As  we  climbed  Kilrourk  together,"  said  Doreen,  a 
dreamy  look  stealing  into  her  blue  eyes. 

"  He  has  the  makings  of  a  very  fine  fellow,"  said  Donal 
Moore,  thoughtfully,  "but  yet  I  hardly  think  he  realizes 
the  difficulties  that  lie  before  him.  It  is  not  one  man  in  a 
thousand  who  is  unselfish  enough  to  run  the  risk  of  spoil- 
ing his  own  career  and  incurring  general  odium  for  the 
sake  of  a  cause  which,  after  all,  is  not  really  his." 

Doreen  winced;  it  hurt  her  to  hear  Max  discussed  in 
such  a  calm,  dispassionate,  critical  way.  And  had  this 
man,  to  whom  she  had  given  her  whole  heart,  only  the 
"  makings  of  a  fine  man  "  in  him  ?  After  all,  that  was  but 
2ifa^on  de  parler;  in  one  sense,  every  one  was  in  process  of 
being  made.  What  she  was  slow  to  admit  was  the  unwel- 
come  thought  that   Ireland  could  possibly  be  for  him  a 


DOREEN-  183 

matter  of  secondary  interest  and  importance.  Donal 
Moore  had  argued  that  the  cause  was,  after  all,  not  really 
his  own.  But  was  it  not  his  own,  when  England  for  gen- 
erations had  been  misgoverning  and  unfairly  treating  the 
Irish  ?  Did  not  the  responsibility  of  the  past  rest  in  part 
upon  him  ?  Was  it  not  his  plain  duty  to  help  in  righting 
the  wrong  ? 

The  talk  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Uncle  Garth, 
who  took  no  sort  of  interest  in  the  news  of  the  Dissolution 
which  was  causing  such  keen  excitement  throughout  the 
country ;  he  greeted  Donal  with  much  warmth. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Moore ;  extremely  glad.  Doreen 
has  perhaps  told  you  our  great  news." 

*•  No,"  said  Doreen,  with  a  merry  laugh,  ^^  I  left  it  for  you, 
uncle ;  that  is  to  say,  I  forgot  all  about  it." 

"A  very  great  discovery  has  just  been  made,"  said  Uncle 
Garth,  his  eyes  sparkling ;  "  some  one  just  by  chance  hap- 
pened to  meddle  with  the  head-dress  of  a  mummy  recently ; 
the  hair  was  coiled  in  bits  of  papyrus,  and  it  was  actually 
found  that  this  was  covered  with  writing ;  folds  and  folds 
of  it  were  discovered  merely  in  the  hair  of  this  one  body, 
and  there  is  great  reason  to  hope  that  a  rich  store  of  infor- 
mation may  be  gradually  acquired,  as  the  hair  of  other 
mummies  is  gradually  investigated.  I  can  show  you,  if 
you  like,  the  sort  of  thing  that  has  been  found " ;  and  he 
bustled  off  to  his  study,  while  Doreen  with  laughter  in  her 
eyes  looked  mischievously  at  Donal  Moore. 

"  Farewell  to  Erin ! "  she  said  merrily.  "  Henceforward 
the  evening  will  be  devoted  to  mummy  curl-papers !  " 

Fortunately,  during  the  Easter  holidays,  Doreen  was  less 
busy  than  usual,  and  was  able  to  spend  most  of  the  time 
with  Mrs.  Hereford  at  Monkton  Verney.  Miriam,  true  to 
her  decision,  had  gone  to  the  Kiviera,  and  wrote  amusing 
letters  to  her  aunt,  describing  the  delights  of  the  sunny 
south,  and  condoling  with  the  poor  victims  who  had  to  sit 
in  dreary  rooms,  listening  to  her  cousin's  election  speeches. 
She  little  guessed  how  keen  a  delight  this  was  to  Doreen, 


1^4  DOREEI^ 

or  how  full  of  radiant  hope  was  the  whole  of  that  busy 
fortnight. 

The  contest  was  likely  to  be  a  severe  one,  but  fortunately 
it  was  fought  in  honourable  fashion  throughout ;  and  though 
Max  inevitably  came  in  for  vehement  personal  attacks  with 
regard  to  the  position  he  had  taken  on  the  temperance 
question,  and  was  often  greeted  in  Firdale  streets  by  the 
singing  of — 

"  D their  eyes  if  they  ever  tries 

To  rob  a  poor  man  of  his  beer," 

yet,  on  the  whole,  Mr.  Steele  proved  a  vigorous  and  deter- 
mined, but  not  an  ill-bred,  opponent. 

Doreen  found  endless  food  for  fun  in  the  whole  election, 
but,  after  one  or  two  attempts,  she  wholly  declined  can- 
vassing. 

"  It's  a  hateful  system,"  she  protested,  when  one  evening 
at  dinner  she  was  urged  by  some  one  present  to  try  her  hand 
upon  a  few  voters  who  were  known  to  be  of  doubtful  mind. 
"  If  I  were  lucky  enough  to  have  a  vote,  and  some  one  came 
poking  into  my  house  at  an  inconvenient  time,  and  wanted 
to  know  the  exact  state  of  my  views  and  what  I  intended 
to  do,  I  would  be  just  like  the  pig  that  the  man  was  driving 
over  Westminster  Bridge,  and  he  couldn't  do  it  till  he  turned 
its  tail  where  he  wanted  its  head  to  go." 

"  Of  course,"  said  her  neighbour  at  the  dinner-table, 
"  there  must  be  no  intimidation ;  only  just  a  clear  setting 
forth  to  them  of  Mr.  Hereford's  views,  and  a  little  gentle 
persuasion  to  them  to  adhere  to  the  right  side." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Doreen.  "  I  was  born  to  be  a 
singer,  not  a  canvasser ;  and  after  all,  one  can  only  do  well 
what  one  thoroughly  believes  in.  Now  I  will  just  tell  you 
what  happened  when  I  went  to  see  one  of  these  obstinate 
old  rustics  who  have  the  privilege  of  voting,  which  is  denied 
to  me.     '•  Have  you  heard  Mr.  Hereford  speak  ? '  I  asked. 

"  '■  Oh,  ay,  I've  'eard  'un,  and  he  be  a  rare  fine  speaker, 
so  he  be.  But  I  be  a  goin'  to  give  my  vote  to  the  other 
chap  this  time.' 


DOREEN-  i8s 

"  *  I  am  sorry  for  that/  I  replied,  '  for  I^n  sure  Mr.  Here- 
ford will  do  more  for  the  country's  good  in  Parliament  than 
the  other  candidate,  and  surely  they  told  me  you  voted  for 
the  Liberal  candidate  at  the  last  election/ 

"  *  So  I  did,  my  dear,'  he  replied.  <  But  ye  see  this  time 
the  other  chap,  the  Conservative,  he  be  called  John.  Now 
John's  me  own  name,  and  so  says  I  to  my  wife,  "  Let's  give 
old  John  a  turn." '  And  he  will  give  old  John  a  turn,  too, 
whoever  goes  to  argue  with  him." 

Max  laughed  heartily  at  the  story. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  grudge  Mr.  Steele  that  supporter," 
he  said.  "And,  as  you  say,  it  is  a  shame  that  women  should 
have  no  power  to  vote.  I  know  well  enough  that  their  feel- 
ing here  is  so  strong  on  the  temperance  question  that  they 
would  certainly  give  us  the  victory." 

"But  the  majority  of  women  are  surely  Conservative," 
said  Doreen's  neighbour. 

"  So  people  say,"  said  Doreen.  "  I  rather  doubt  it ;  but 
even  if  that  is  the  case,  why  are  they  to  be  kept  out  of  a 
right  which  they  actually  enjoyed  in  olden  times  ?  Of  one 
thing  I  am  certain :  they  care  more  for  what  is  really  right 
than  most  men  do.  It  is  only  because  it  seems  to  be  expe- 
dient that  men  deny  them  their  just  rights.  We  are  told 
in  all  the  histories  that  the  great  principle  set  forth  in 
Magna  Charta  was  that  there  could  be  no  taxation  without 
representation,  and  that  the  law  of  the  land  is  the  same  for 
all ;  but  people  seem  gloriously  to  have  broken  that  principle 
for  generations." 

"  Your  country  blocks  the  way,"  said  Mr.  Farrant,  the 
member  for  Greyshot,  who  was  sitting  at  Mrs.  Hereford's 
right  hand.  "When  Ireland  has  Home  Rule,  there  will, 
perhaps,  be  time  to  set  this  grievance  at  rest." 

"  Are  we  to  have  Signor  Sardoni's  song  again  to-night  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Farrant,  as  the  ladies  went  to  the  drawing-room. 

"  Yes,  if  you  are  not  quite  tired  of  it.  The  people  seem 
to  like  it,  and  I  hear  it  now  constantly  whistled  about  the 
Firdale  streets,"  said  Doreen.     "  Are  you  not  almost  weary 


l86  DOREEN- 

of  election  work,  having  just  been  through  the  campaign  at 
Greyshot  ? '' 

"  This  is  so  different,"  said  Mrs.  Farrant,  her  bright  face 
clouding  for  a  moment.  "  At  Greyshot  it  was  a  very  bitter 
fight,  and  I  am  glad  for  my  husband  to  be  away  from  home 
for  a  little  while :  this  thorough  change  will  do  him  great 
good.  He  was  returned,  you  know,  by  a  majority  of  ten 
only,  and  I  can't  tell  you  what  he  has  had  to  endure  all 
through  the  election,  —  the  raking  up  of  the  past,  the  gross 
exaggerations,  the  incessant  slanders,  or  half-truths,  bandied 
about  by  his  opponents." 

"  What  did  he  do  to  check  them  ?  "  asked  Doreen,  with 
keen  interest. 

''As  a  rule  he  refused  to  take  any  notice  whatever,  unless 
the  slander  was  likely  to  damage  others  also.  He  used  to 
tell  me  of  brave  old  Hannah  More,  who  steadily  declined 
to  vouchsafe  the  least  notice  to  the  cruel  slanders  which 
saddened  her  life,  even  when  they  went  to  the  length  of 
accusing  her  of  attempting  the  assassination  of  the  Eegent." 

"  I  think  it  is  the  one  thing  I  should  resent  more  than 
all  others,"  said  Doreen,  thoughtfully. 

As  yet  nothing  of  the  sort  had  touched  her;  she  had 
gained  a  high  position  in  the  musical  world,  and  had  won 
the  greatest  personal  respect;  the  thought  of  having  the 
least  shadow  cast  upon  her  reputation  made  her  shudder, 
and  it  was  with  more  understanding  eyes  that  she  looked 
at  Donovan  Farrant  when,  shortly  after,  the  gentlemen 
rejoined  them.  Was  this,  she  wondered,  the  explanation 
of  that  air  of  having  lived  through  a  great  struggle  which 
made  him  so  curiously  unlike  Max  ?  There  was  not  so  very 
much  difference,  after  all,  between  their  ages.  Mr.  Farrant 
might  be  a  few  years  older,  but  he  had  the  look  of  one  who 
had  fought  a  hard  fight  and  had  conquered,  yet  would  bear 
all  his  life  the  scars  of  the  conflict.  What  had  his  past 
been?  she  wondered.  And  was  this  what  Donal  Moore 
meant  by  a  man  that  was  "  made  "  ?  Must  Max  also  pass 
through  some  great  ordeal  before  Donal  would  allow  that 


DOREEN  187 

he  had  more  than  the  "  makings "  of  a  fine  man  in  him  ? 
She  turned  from  the  idea  with  a  shudder  of  dread,  unable 
to  endure  the  thought  of  any  cloud  coming  over  the  fair 
horizon  of  his  life.  Everything  save  sunshine  and  pros- 
perity seemed  so  foreign  to  his  nature,  his  life  had  hitherto 
been  so  wonderfully  smooth,  that  to  think  of  danger  or 
trouble  in  store  for  him  seemed  unbearable. 

"  You  are  tired,"  said  Max,  crossing  the  room  to  the  little 
nook  behind  the  piano,  where  she  was  somewhat  absently 
turning  over  the  songs  in  her  portfolio  in  search  of  some- 
thing fresh  for  that  evening.  "  I  am  afraid  we  are  letting 
you  do  too  much." 

She  looked  up  into  his  fresh,  cheerful  face,  met  the  eyes 
which  always  seemed  so  full  of  sunshine,  and  promptly 
dismissed  that  thought  of  a  future  ordeal  in  store  for  him. 
Surely  nothing  so  incongruous  as  trouble  or  danger  could 
ever  come  near  Max. 

"No,  I  am  not  tired,"  she  said.  "I  was  only  thinking 
of  something  Mrs.  Farrant  told  me  of  the  disagreeables 
they  had  had  to  go  through  at  Greyshot." 

"Firdale  has  been  better  behaved,"  said  Max.  "But 
there  is  no  knowing  how  it  will  treat  me  when  Irish  mat- 
ters come  to  the  fore,  unless  in  the  mean  time  you  have  suc- 
ceeded in  fairly  bewitching  them  with  your  Irish  songs. 
However,  I  am  calmly  talking  as  though  I  were  already 
elected.     We  must  not  make  too  sure  of  victory." 

"  But  your  agent  is  in  very  good  spirits,"  said  Doreen. 
"  He  looked  quite  beaming  when  we  met  him  this  afternoon 
in  the  drive." 

"  He  didn't  tell  you  about  the  placards,  did  he  ?  "  said 
Max,  laughing.  "  You  know  the  whole  place  was  covered 
with  posters  adjuring  people  to  ^Vote  for  Steele  and  keep 
Southshire  solid.'  Well,  some  wag  on  our  side  amused 
himself  last  night  by  going  round  with  paint-pot  and 
brush  and  neatly  inserting  a  T  into  every  placard,  so  that 
they  are  bidden  to  vote  for  the  Conservative  to  keep  things 
stoHd." 


188  DOREEN' 

"  How  Michael  would  have  enjoyed  doing  that ! "  said 
Doreen,  with  a  smile.  ^^  It  would  have  been  a  trick  after 
his  own  heart.  Mrs.  Hereford  does  not  look  well  to-night ; 
I  am  glad  she  has  given  up  the  thought  of  going." 

*^  The  excitement  is  bad  for  her,  but  it  will  soon  be  over 
now ;  by  the  day  after  to-morrow  we  shall  know  our  fate. 
Here  comes  the  carriage ;  let  me  roll  up  your  song." 

Doreen  ran  upstairs  to  get  ready,  reappearing  before  long 
in  the  pretty  white  felt  hat  trimmed  with  dusky  olive  green 
velvet,  and  the  long  green  cloak  lined  with  white  fur, 
which  she  had  specially  devised  for  the  election.  It  was  a 
costume  of  which  Max  heartily  approved,  and  it  called 
forth  Mrs.  Farrant's  admiration. 

"  It  has  been  such  fun  singing  at  these  meetings  that  I 
am  quite  sorry  this  will  be  the  last  time,"  said  Doreen,  as 
they  drove  into  Firdale. 

"  The  last,  but  the  most  important  occasion  of  all,"  said 
Max.  "To-night  you  have  to  rival  the  great  gun  Mr. 
Steele  has  managed  to  secure  ;  a  member  of  the  late  cabi- 
net, dull  as  ditchwater,  but,  nevertheless,  one  who  is  bound 
to  draw,  for  is  he  not  a  real  live  Earl  ?  " 

"  How  clever  it  was  of  your  agent  to  secure  the  Town- 
hall  in  time  !  It  is  delightful  to  think  that  the  other  side 
will  have  to  take  refuge  in  the  Corn  Exchange,  and  to  talk 
of  Protection,  and  sing  ^We  don't  want  to  fight,'  in  that 
depressing  place,  which  is  worse  for  sound  than  any  room  I 
ever  knew." 

"  The  true  red-hot  election  temper  is  beginning  to  possess 
you,"  said  Max,  laughing.  "  For  a  singer,  I  consider  that  a 
most  vindictive  speech ! " 

"Well,  well,"  said  Doreen.  "For  such  songs  as  they 
will  sing  the  place  is  surely  good  enough.  Now  we  really 
must  have  something  better  than  that  wretched  glass-roofed 
shed." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  town,  and  as  the  lamp- 
light flashed  across  Doreen's  eager  face,  Max  found  himself 
thinking  of  that  evening  years  ago  when  he  had  driven 


DOREEN'  189 

with  her  to  the  Albert  Hall  before  her  first  appearance  in 
the  "Messiah."  She  was  far  more  excited  now  than  she 
had  been  before  her  own  ordeal,  and  there  was  a  happy 
confidence  in  her  manner  which  made  his  own  heart  beat 
high  with  hope.  Max  nsually  succeeded  in  life,  and  invari- 
ably he  expected  to  succeed.  This  was  not  from  conceit, 
but  from  a  certain  unconquerable  hopefulness  of  tempera- 
ment, and  from  the  long  spell  of  unbroken  good  fortune 
which  he  had  enjoyed.  Save  that  terrible  incident  in 
Ireland,  of  which  he  had  been  the  witness,  no  untoward 
event  had  occurred  to  cast  a  shadow  over  his  life ;  and  he 
was  not  of  a  worrying  nature,  and  had  quite  ceased  to  feel 
Desmond's  secret  any  sort  of  burden  to  him.  If  at  times 
the  recollection  of  that  scene  on  Lough  Lee,  and  the  horror 
of  witnessing  Foxell's  violent  death,  returned  for  a  few 
moments,  the  discomfort  was  brief  enough,  —  a  mere  tem- 
porary disturbance  of  his  serenity.  He  lived  in  the  pres- 
ent, and  the  present  was  full  of  excitement  and  hard  work 
and  eager  hope.  His  great  personal  popularity  in  Firdale 
counted  for  much,  and  the  cheers  that  rent  the  air  as  he 
and  his  companions  entered  the  Town-hall  would  have 
stirred  a  far  older  and  more  seasoned  warrior.  Doreen 
thought  no  applause  had  ever  sounded  so  sweet;  accus- 
tomed as  she  was  to  such  demonstrations,  she  was,  never- 
theless, moved  almost  to  tears  by  this  recognition  of  her 
lover,  and  all  anxiety  for  the  morrow  left  her :  she  threw 
herself  unreservedly  into  the  enjoyment  of  the  present. 

Perhaps  every  one  else  was  a  little  weary  of  meetings, 
but  Doreen  to  the  last  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  con- 
test, and  found  endless  food  for  amusement  in  the  study  of 
the  speakers  and  of  the  audience.  In  the  second  row  she 
could  see  a  certain  local  magnate  who  had  been  lured  to  the 
Town-hall  simply  by  the  desire  to  hear  her  sing,  and  who, 
being  of  the  other  persuasion,  listened  to  the  speeches  with 
the  most  comically  glum  face  imaginable.  Then  there  were 
the  labourers,  the  older  ones  somewhat  stolid-looking  coun- 
trymen, the  younger  listening  intently,  and  occasionally 


igo  DOREEN' 

opening  their  mouths  wide  for  a  great  bellow  of  applause 
excessively  startling  to  their  nearest  neighbours.  The  ven- 
erable-looking chairman,  also  a  local  light,  was  not  without 
some  comic  aspects  which  tickled  Doreen's  sense  of  fun. 
He  was  an  ardent  politician,  but  a  lame  speaker,  and  he 
resorted  to  the  simple  expedient  of  introducing  the  beloved 
name  of  the  great  Liberal  chief  into  his  speech  whenever  he 
was  at  a  loss,  making  a  significant  pause,  which,  of  course, 
was  filled  with  loud  cheers. 

After  this,  one  of  Doreen's  songs  came  very  refreshingly 
to  the  assembly,  and  with  a  comfortable  sense  of  having 
stimulated  her  hearers  and  kindled  their  enthusiasm,  she 
sat  down  again,  eager  to  hear  what  sort  of  speaker  Mr. 
Farrant  would  prove.  One  thing  he  undoubtedly  possessed, 
—  the  faculty  of  arresting  the  whole  attention  of  his  hearers. 
He  was  no  orator ;  he  could  not  even  be  called  an  eloquent 
speaker,  but  there  was  a  thoroughness  about  him  which 
seemed  to  go  straight  to  the  consciences  of  the  voters.  His 
argument  was  weighty  and  convincing ;  he  never  stooped  to 
abuse  his  opponents,  but  somehow  contrived  to  raise  the 
whole  tone  of  the  meeting,  to  fill  the  electors  with  a  sense 
of  the  grave  responsibility  that  rested  upon  them,  and  to 
make  them  understand  in  the  clearest,  most  practical  way, 
what  the  effect  of  voting  for  Max  Hereford  would  be,  and 
how  greatly  it  might  help  in  bringing  about  long-needed 
reforms.  Doreen  almost  trembled  at  the  thought  of  com- 
ing after  such  a  speaker.  How  was  she  to  maintain  the 
lofty  tone  to  vi^hich  he  had  raised  the  minds  of  those  pres- 
ent ?  Sardoni's  song,  which  had  grown  so  popular,  did  not 
wholly  please  her,  somehow.  It  would  be  more  in  keeping 
after  Max  Hereford's  stirring,  enthusiastic  speech.  She 
turned  over  the  leaves  of  a  book  of  Irish  songs  which  she 
had  brought  with  her,  and  selected,  instead,  a  simple, 
stately,  national  air,  one  of  those  calls  to  battle,  those  stir- 
ring appeals  to  help  in  the  national  defence,  which,  like 
"  The  March  of  the  Men  of  Harlech,"  appeal  to  all  nations 
for  all  time.     Max  could  just  see  her  profile  as  she  sang, 


DOREEN  191 

and  he  thought  he  had  never  before  seen  her  look  so  lovely. 
With  one  of  those  sudden  flashes  of  perception  by  which 
truth  generally  makes  itself  known,  he  all  at  once  realized 
to  what  an  extent  Doreen  had  influenced  his  life. 

"If  I  win  the  election,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "if  I  am 
ever  worth  anything  at  all,  it  will  be  her  doing." 

And  when  presently  he  was  received  by  the  audience 
with  deafening  cheers,  with  an  enthusiastic  devotion  which 
seemed  to  augur  well  for  the  morrow,  this  thought  still 
remained  with  him,  adding  very  much  to  the  grace  of 
manner  which  characterized  all  the  more  personal  parts  of 
his  speech.  Then,  throwing  off  all  diffidence,  he  flung  him- 
self, with  fiery  ardour,  into  the  great  questions  of  the  day. 
As  a  speaker,  he  was  the  exact  opposite  of  Donovan  Far- 
rant.  Where  the  one  was  calm,  logical,  full  of  weighty  argu- 
ments, the  other  was  full  of  burning  eloquence,  of  scathing 
denunciation,  of  glowing  enthusiasm,  which  roused  his 
hearers  to  the  same  pitch  of  strong  feeling.  Doreen,  at 
the  close,  turned  with  a  smile  to  Mrs.  Farrant.  "They 
ought  always  to  speak  together,"  she  said.  "  Then  every 
variety  of  hearer  would  be  influenced  and  won." 

The  polling  day  passed  off  quietly  enough,  as  polling 
days  should ;  it  was  fine,  but  bitterly  cold.  Doreen,  how- 
ever, was  in  no  mood  to  think  of  prudent  considerations, 
and  drove  hither  and  thither  with  Max  and  the  Farrants, 
regardless  of  the  cutting  east  wind,  and  thinking  only  of 
the  fight  that  was  being  fought.  Everywhere  the  Liberal 
candidate  was  well  received,  and  when,  in  the  afternoon, 
Mrs.  Hereford  came  in  from  Monkton  Verney  and  joined 
the  others  in  the  Committee  Kooms,  Doreen  gave  her  a 
glowing  account  of  the  way  in  which  matters  were  pro- 
gressing. 

Then  the  election  agent  came  in  with  a  yet  more  cheerful 
version  of  the  day's  doings,  and  Doreen  wandered  to  the 
window,  which  commanded  a  good  view  of  the  market- 
place, and  amused  herself  with  watching  the  faQe3  of  th^ 
QiQwd  l?elow. 


192  DOREEN 

Much  laughter  greeted  the  cart  belonging  to  a  local 
dyer,  who  was  zealously  conducting  tardy  voters  to  the 
poll ;  and  who,  by  way  of  a  novel  effect,  had  sacrificed  an 
unlucky  little  Pomeranian  dog,  dyeing  it  half  blue  and  half 
red,  to  the  great  delight  of  all  the  Firdale  children.  An  en- 
counter between  this  ill-used  quadruped  and  Mr.  Tarrant's 
fox  terrier,  which  had  been  decorated  with  a  huge  green 
and  white  bow  by  Doreen,  was  attempted  by  some  mis- 
chievous person,  but  Waif  magnanimously  refused  to  quar- 
rel with  his  blue  and  red  rival,  and  only  walked  round  and 
round  him  with  a  puzzled  air,  sniffing  a  little  contemptu- 
ously, as  much  as  to  say,  "Lord,  what  fools  these  mor- 
tals be ! " 

All  at  once  loud  cheers  rose  from  the  crowd,  and  Doreen's 
heart  began  to  throb  with  eager  pride  as  she  saw  that  the 
greeting  was  in  honour  of  Max,  who  was  just  crossing  the 
broad  open  space  between  the  Town-hall  and  his  Committee 
Kooms.  He  raised  his  hat,  and  walked  through  the  eager 
crowd  with  an  air  of  good  cheer  and  hopefulness,  which  in- 
spirited his  supporters  not  a  little.  Doreen  felt  a  glow  of 
happiness  as  she  reflected  that  he  was  the  last  man  to  be 
spoilt  by  success.  Suddenly  the  cheering  was  interrupted 
by  a  series  of  groans  and  hisses ;  without  glancing  in  the 
direction  whence  they  came,  Max  entered  the  house  and 
soon  joined  them.  But  Doreen,  looking  keenly  down,  saw 
that  the  prime  agitator  was  a  dark-haired  man  of  about 
forty,  whose  face  she  was  cei-tain  she  had  seen  before. 

"  News  telegraphed  of  ten  more  great  Liberal  victories," 
said  Max,  cheerfully.  "That  ought  to  help  us  to-day, — 
the  flowing  tide  is  with  us  !  " 

"Do  look  here  one  moment,"  exclaimed  Doreen.  "There 
is  a  man  just  below  who  tried  hard  to  get  up  a  demon- 
strafion  against  you,  and  I  cannot  think  how  I  know 
his  face  so  well." 

"  Doubtless  it's  old  Friday  that  you  once  asked  me  about 
at  a  meeting,"  said  Max,  laughing  as  he  recalled  some  past 
§ceji^t      "Miss   O'Eyan,"   he   explained  to  Mrs,  Farrant, 


DOREEJV  193 

"  was  singing  at  a  meeting  ten  days  ago,  and  at  the  end  of 
her  song  quite  upset  me  by  saying,  *  Who  is  that  old  gen- 
tleman with  marked  features  at  the  end  of  the  room  ? '  It 
was  no  less  a  hero  than  the  notorious  Firdale  drunkard,  an 
old  scamp  who  goes  by  the  name  of  Friday,  and  who  takes 
refuge  in  the  workhouse  all  the  winter  and  drinks  all  the 
summer." 

"  Of  course  Friday  would  be  your  opponent,"  said  Doreen, 
smiling;  "but  this  man  was  a  great  deal  younger,  and  I 
know  his  face  perfectly  well.  There,  look ;  he  is  just  talk- 
ing now  to  that  tall  man  who  spoke  at  the  Monday  night 
meeting.  He  must  be  abusing  you;  how  angry  they 
are  getting !  See !  see !  there  is  some  one  throwing  a  flour 
bag  at  him.     I  daresay  he  deserved  it." 

"  Stupid  fellows  !  "  said  Max.  "  I  wish  they  wouldn't 
defend  me  in  such  a  fashion.  I  couldn't  see  the  fellow's 
face,  and  now  he  looks  like  Lot's  wife,  and  it's  impossible 
to  recognize  him." 

The  unfortunate  victim  of  the  flour  bag  disappeared  into 
a  barber's  shop  a  little  lower  down  the  street,  and  Max  and 
Doreen,  who  had  much  else  to  think  of,  speedily  forgot  the 
incident.  Had  Max  been  present,  however,  when,  after 
much  washing  and  rubbing  and  brushing,  the  flour  was  at 
last  got  rid  of  and  the  victim  of  the  outrage  restored  to  his 
usual  appearance,  he  would  have  deemed  the  affair  worth 
a  little  more  reflection. 

Old  Killigrew,  the  barber,  had  just  been  about  to  start  for 
the  polling  booth,  when  his  floury  customer  had  arrived. 
He  bustled  about  his  shop  in  an  important  way,  keenly 
enjoying  the  chance  of  learning  all  that  had  passed  from 
the  victim  himself. 

"  Such  things  will  happen  on  election  days,"  he  remarked 
soothingly,  "  and  Lor'  bless  me,  'twould  be  tame  enough  if 
they  didn't.  Things  'av  been  mighty  quiet  here  all  day,  — 
just  a  pane  or  two  of  glass  broke  by  some  of  Mr.  Steele's 
supporters,  they  tell  me,  down  at  the  coffee  tavern;  but 
then,  what  can  you  expect  ?  'tis  but  natural  they  should  'ate 


194  DOREEN' 

the  coffee  tavern,  which  is  just  the  apple  of  Mr.  'Ereford's 
eye,  and  if  'e  goes  about  speaking  against  the  liquor  traffic, 
why,  stands  to  reason  there'll  be  some  of  'em  will  get  a  bit 
riled.  For  Mr.  'Ereford  'e  doan't  mince  matters.  'E's 
young,  yer  see,  and  'e  'its  'ard.  Now  myself,  I'm  all  for 
moderate  drinkin',  but  these  temperance  folk  they  say  as 
'ow  'arf  an'  'arf  measures  'av  never  cured  one  drunkard,  an' 
maybe  they're  right;  yet  for  all  that,  I  do  like  your  moder- 
ate men ;  they  smooths  folk  down  and  are  a  deal  more  com- 
fortable than  these  Eadicals.  Not  but  what  I'm  a  goin'  to 
vote  for  Mr.  'Ereford  to-day.  'E's  the  best  man  of  the  two, 
an'  I've  a  deal  of  respect  for  'im,  an'  there's  truth  in  what 
'e  says  about  Ireland." 

"  Don't  you  be  led  by  him,"  said  the  victim  of  the  outrage, 
emerging  from  beneath  the  towel  wherewith  Killigrew  was 
rubbing  his  hair.  "  I  know  a  deal  more  about  Mr.  Hereford 
thin  you  do,  and  I  advise  you  not  to  vote  for  him." 

"  Why,  Heaven  preserve  us  ! "  cried  Killigrew,  catching 
sight,  in  the  mirror,  of  the  face  of  his  customer  now  restored 
to  its  proper  hue,  "  'tis  Monsieur  Baptiste  !  To  be  sure,  if 
any  one  should  know  Mr.  'Ereford,  why  'tis  yourself  that 
was  'is  valet  for  years  and  years ;  not  but  what  I've  'card 
folk  say  that  a  man's  never  an  'ero  to  his  valet." 

"  Mr.  Hereford  is  certainly  no  hero  to  me,"  said  Baptiste, 
whose  English  had  greatly  improved  during  his  four  years' 
absence  from  Monkton  Verney. 

As  he  spoke,  there  entered  three  more  customers,  burly, 
weather-beaten  labourers,  come  to  be  shaved  before  going 
to  the  polling  station.  The  eldest  of  the  three,  a  man  with 
great,  brown,  cow-like  eyes,  stared  hard  at  the  Frenchman. 

"And  what  may  you  know  about  'Ereford,  eh,  man? 
We  were  just  a  goin'  to  vote  for  un." 

"  You  gowk,"  said  his  neighbour,  "'  don't  you  see  it's  him 
that  was  servant  up  at  Monkton  Verney  a  while  ago  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  friends,"  said  Baptiste,  "I  was  in  Mr.  Here- 
ford's service  many  years,  and  was  turned  off  by  him  at  a 
moment's  notice  in  a  fit  of  anger.     That's  the  sort  of  man 


DOREEN-  t9$ 

your  Liberal  candidate  is,  —  a  man  with  no  gratitude,  a  man 
who  will  use  you  and  then  throw  you  aside  like  an  old 
glove,  a  man  that  has  no  more  control  over  his  tongue  and 
temper  than  a  child,  yet  who  will  talk  fair  about  temper- 
ance and  reform  and  philanthropy.  Curse  him!  He's  a 
hypocrite !     A  whited  sepulchre ! " 

"  Softly,  softly,  my  good  friend,"  said  the  barber,  swath- 
ing the  burly  form  of  the  old  labourer  in  a  white  sheet. 
"  'Tis  but  nateral  you  should  resent  being  turned  off  at  a 
moment's  notice ;  but  still  be  moderate,  be  moderate.  I 
do  like  your  moderate  man  who  knows  'ow  to  smooth 
matters  over "  ;  and  with  an  expressive  flourish  he  emphar 
sized  his  words  by  delicately  lathering  the  face  of  his  new 
customer. 

"  Why  did  he  give  yer  the  sack  ?  "  said  the  youngest  of 
the  new  arrivals,  who  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  was  to 
enjoy  the  privilege  of  voting. 

"I  will  tell  you,"  said  the  Frenchman,  dramatically. 
"For  years,  as  Mr.  Killigrew  well  knows,  I  served  him 
faithfully,  nursed  him  when  he  was  sick,  performed  a 
thousand  duties  that  were  not  really  part  of  my  work,  and 
then,  having  discovered  that  I  knew  of  a  damaging  secret 
in  his  past  life,  and  fearing  that  I  might  reveal  it,  he  turned 
me  out." 

"I  never  'eerd  nought  against  'Ereford,"  said  the  man 
with  the  cow-like  eyes,  as  he  was  released  from  the  white 
sheet. 

"  That  may  be,"  said  Baptiste,  darkly.  "  He  knows  well 
enough  how  to  hold  his  tongue.  But  mark  my  words,  if 
you  knew  about  him  all  that  I  know,  you'd  as  soon  go  to 
the  poll  and  vote  for  the  devil  himself." 

"  And  'ow  did  you  find  this  out,  Mr.  Baptiste  ? "  asked 
Killigrew,  his  good-humoured,  mild  face  puckered  and 
wrinkled  with  anxiety. 

"  I  found  it  out  a  little  when  I  was  in  Ireland  years  ago 
at  Castle  Karey,  and  later  on  gained  fresh  light  on  the 
matter  at  Monk  ton  Vemey.     The  instant  my  master  sus- 

o2 


196  DOREEN- 

pected  that  I  was  on  the  scent  he  dismissed  me ;  but  I  was 
even  with  him :  took  service  with  a  family  in  Dublin,  and 
worked  away  at  my  clew.  The  time  will  come  when  I  shall 
be  able  to  expose  him.  But  don't  you  men  of  Firdale  be 
such  fools  as  to  elect  him  tO-day.  'Twould  be  a  disgrace 
to  the  town  to  have  its  member  shown  up  to  the  world  for 
the  deceiver  that  he  is." 

"Good  Lord!"  said  Killigrew,  wiping  his  forehead. 
"  Why,  I've  known  'im  since  'e  was  a  baby.  It  must  be 
a  mistake,  man ;  'e  can't  have  been  so  much  to  blame  as 
you  thought.  It  was,  maybe,  a  mere  sowing  of  'is  wild 
oats." 

"Pshaw!"  said  the  valet,  contemptuously.  "Do  you 
take  me  for  an  innocent,  my  friend  ?  Is  it  likely  that  I 
should  make  anything  of  a  mere  bagatelle  of  that  sort  ?  I 
do  wrong  to  speak  of  it  openly,  however ;  the  time  of  rev- 
elation is  not  yet;  only  it  vexes  me  to  see  you  all  hood- 
winked, and  to  think  how  you  will  regret  having  voted  for 
him  when  the  law  is  on  his  track  and  he  is  imprisoned,  and 
the  world  knows  him  as  he  really  is." 

"Well,  mates,  anyhow  we'll  be  safest  in  voting  for 
Steele,"  said  the  eldest  of  the  old  labourers,  tossing  down 
his  twopence  on  the  counter;  and  Killigrew,  with  a  per- 
turbed face,  saw  them  stroll  out  into  the  street  and  walk  off 
to  the  polling  station. 

"  I  can't  vote  against  Mr.  'Ereford,"  he  said,  as  he  slowly 
swept  up  the  floor.  "But  I  tell  you  what  I  shall  do.  Mon- 
sieur Baptiste,  I  shall  not  vote  at  all." 

Baptiste  smiled  an  evil  smile  and  left  the  shop  with  a 
sweeping  bow.  "  A  very  wise  decision,"  he  said.  "  I  felt 
sure  that  you  wouldn't  vote  for  him  when  you  knew  that 
he  was  not  what  he  seems  to  be.  Au  revoir,  Mr.  Killi- 
grew ;  you  are  a  sensible  man,  and  I  am  glad  to  think  you 
will  no  longer  be  gulled  by  that  hypocrite." 


CHAPTEE  XVII. 

**  Oh,  not  more  subtly  silence  strays 

Amongst  the  winds,  between  the  voices, 

Mingling  alike  with  pensive  lays. 
And  with  the  music  that  rejoices, 

Than  thou  art  present  in  my  days. 

*'  Most  dear  pause  in  a  mellow  lay  ! 
Thou  art  inwoven  with  every  air. 
With  thee  the  wildest  tempests  play, 

And  snatches  of  thee  everywhere 
Make  little  heavens  thi'oughout  a  day." 

Alice  Metnell. 

The  Monkton  Vemey  party  drove  home  that  night  in 
excellent  spirits.  The  result  of  the  election  would  not  be 
declared  till  the  next  day  at  noon,  but  the  general  feeling 
was  that  Max  had  won  the  seat,  and  the  Conservatives,  who 
at  the  previous  election  had  had  a  large  majority,  looked 
anxious  and  dispirited.  Max  had  been  hard  at  work  all 
day,  and  was  thoroughly  exhausted;  to  lean  back  in  the 
corner  of  the  carriage,  to  catch  faint  glimpses  of  Doreen's 
face  opposite  him,  and  to  listen  to  the  cheery  talk  of  his 
companions,  seemed  to  him  a  sort  of  paradise  of  rest.  The 
conversation  happened  to  turn  upon  the  ghost  that  haunted 
the  Abbey,  and  then  Airs.  Farrant  told  a  tale  of  a  nice,  mat- 
ter-of-fact, well-explained  ghost,  of  the  sort  tliat  one  likes  to 
think  of  at  midnight,  and  urged  that  all  ghost  stories  could 
be  explained  after  a  similar  fashion. 

"  Nothing  will  make  me  believe  that,"  said  Doreen,  who 
had  a  strong  tinge  of  Keltic  belief  in  the  supernatural.     "  I 

197 


19S  DOREEN' 

will  tell  you  a  story  of  an  Irish  ghost  which  my  father  him- 
self knew  to  be  true :  it  is  a  very  nice  sort,  not  at  all  creepy, 
and  it  shows  a  trait  in  the  Irish  character  which  English 
people  don't  realize." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  said  Max. 

"Their  unceasing  memory  of  kindness.  An  Irishman 
never  forgets." 

"  Let  us  have  the  story,"  said  Donovan  Farrant.  "  This 
is  precisely  the  right  sort  of  light  for  it." 

"  Well,"  said  Doreen,  in  her  clear,  mellow  voice,  with  its 
delicious  modulations,  "  there  was  once  upon  a  time  a  well- 
to-do  settler  in  Australia,  who  lived  some  fifty  miles  from  a 
town.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  riding  in  occasionally  to  draw 
out  money  from  his  bank,  and  on  one  of  these  rides,  as  he 
was  returning  with  a  good  deal  of  gold  upon  him,  he  was 
stopped  by  an  Irishman  who  begged  him  most  piteously  to 
lend  him  some  money  to  get  his  passage  back  to  Ireland. 
The  man  was  in  terrible  distress,  longing  to  get  back  to  his 
people  in  the  old  country,  who  needed  him  in  some  great 
trouble,  but  absolutely  without  means  to  pay  his  fare. 

"'You  are  a  perfect  stranger  to  me,'  said  the  English- 
man. '  How  am  I  to  trust  you  ?  '  Yet  all  the  time  he  felt 
sorry  for  the  poor  fellow,  and  inclined  to  believe  in  him. 

" '  If  you  will  only  help  me,'  cried  the  Irishman,  '  I  will 
never  forget  it  to  you.  Lend  me  the  loan  of  the  money, 
and  I  will  pay  you  back,  and,  should  death  overtake  me, 
sure  then  I'll  repay  you  in  the  next  world.' 

"  The  Englishman,  touched  by  the  appeal,  lent  the  money. 
Years  passed  by,  and  nothing  was  heard  of  the  Irishman. 
One  day  he  was  again  riding  along  the  same  road,  and 
again  carrying  an  unusually  large  amount  of  gold  from  his 
bank.  He  was  feeling  nervous  that  day,  for  there  had  re- 
cently been  a  bad  highway  robbery,  and  a  solitary  traveller 
had  been  robbed  and  murdered  by  two  ruffians  who  were 
still  at  large.  In  the  very  loneliest  part  of  the  road  he  all 
at  once  felt  that  he  was  being  followed.  For  a  while  he 
tried  to  believe  it  was  nothing  but  fancy ;  the  way  was  so 


DOREEM  1^ 

rough  and  liilly  that  it  was  impossible  to  urge  on  his  horse, 
anil  at  hist,  glancing  round,  his  worst  fears  were  realized  ; 
he  saw  that  two  villainous-looking  men  were  rapidly  ap- 
proaching him.  They  drew  nearer  and  yet  nearer  ;  in  the 
clear  atmosphere  he  could  plainly  hear  their  words. 

"  '  Now  is  the  time/  said  one  ;  *  forward !  ^ 

"^Hold,  you  fool!'  cried  the  other,  with  a  sudden  change 
of  tone.     *  It's  no  use ;  don't  you  see  there  are  two  of  them  ? ' 

"  Amazed  at  their  words,  he  glanced  round,  and  there,  at 
his  right  hand,  was  the  Irishman,  walking  beside  him. 
There  was  something  in  the  look  of  him  that  awed  the 
traveller  too  much  for  words,  yet  he  felt  nothing  but  intense 
surprise  and  relief.  The  two  ruffians  turned  and  fled  the 
instant  they  realized  that  there  might  be  risk  to  themselves 
in  attacking  their  victim,  and  the  Irishman  walked  steadily 
on  beside  the  traveller,  until  his  home  was  in  sight,  then 
suddenly  vanished.  And  the  Englishman  realized  that  the 
promise  had  been  kept,  and  that,  unable  to  pay  the  loan  in 
this  world,  the  man  had  doubly  repaid  him  in  the  next.  He 
understood  that  the  Irish  never  forget." 

"That  is  the  best  ghost  story  I  ever  heard,"  said  Mrs. 
Farrant ;  "  but  did  not  the  traveller  speak  to  the  Irishman  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say ;  he  may  have  spoken.  I  tell  the  story  as 
my  father  told  it  to  me,  and  I  believe  he  had  it  from  the 
traveller  himself." 

"  It  is  so  difficult  ever  to  get  a  story  at  first  hand,"  said 
Donovan  Farrant,  "  but  I  confess  that  sounds  more  possible 
to  me  than  your  Abbey  ghost,  in  which  I  can't  get  up  any 
sort  of  belief." 

"  I  believe  in  him,'*  said  Doreen.  "  Indeed,  I  am  rather 
afraid  of  him.  Nothing  would  induce  me  to  go  to  the  Abbey 
after  dark." 

"  You  might  go  a  hundred  times  and  see  nothing,"  said 
Max,  laughing.  "  It  is  only  on  certain  nights,  according  to 
old  Goody,  that  he  takes  the  trouble  to  show  up.  I  wish 
to  goodness  I  could  lay  him  somehow,  for  it  is  a  serious 
drawback  to  the  place  j  two  or  three  times,  when  we  were 


200  DOREEN" 

anxious  to  let  it  for  the  summer,  the  plan  fell  through  on 
account  of  this  silly  superstition.  The  ladies  of  the  party 
objected  to  a  haunted  place,  and  it  was  no  use  to  tell  them 
that  the  ghost  limited  himself  to  the  walls  of  the  ruins,  and 
had  never  been  so  ill-bred  as  to  trouble  us  in  the  house." 

"  You  are  going  to  lay  it  yourself,  by  restoring  the  ruin," 
said  Doreen,  smiling ;  and  they  fell  to  the  discussion  of  plans 
for  the  projected  buildings. 

Doreen  woke  the  next  morning  with  an  exultant  feeling 
that  the  great  day  of  her  life  had  dawned,  the  day  for 
which  she  had  so  long  waited  and  hoped.  She  sang  to  her- 
self from  sheer  lightness  of  heart  as  she  dressed,  and  her 
bright  face  seemed  to  inspirit  the  others  when  they  all  met 
at  breakfast.  Afterwards,  they  drove  into  Firdale,  to  be 
present  at  the  counting  of  the  votes,  and  the  keen  air  of 
that  sunny  April  morning  seemed  to  banish  all  the  mis- 
givings which  had  seized  them  during  the  night,  and  to  buoy 
them  up  with  hope.  The  waiting  was  terribly  long;  Doreen 
hardly  knew  how  to  endure  it.  Like  one  in  a  dream,  she 
watched  the  sedate,  impartial  air  of  the  returning  officer  and 
his  assistant,  the  well-assumed  calm  of  Mr.  Steele,  and  the 
undisguised  eagerness  of  her  lover.  She  sat  beside  Mrs. 
Hereford,  marvelling  at  her  quiet  patience,  and  from  time 
to  time,  when  the  tension  became  unendurable,  she  tried  to 
forget  it  all,  and  looked  forth  from  the  window  at  the  crowd, 
which  grew  and  grew,  until  by  twelve  o'clock  the  whole 
of  the  market-place  was  packed  with  people,  eagerly  waiting 
for  the  announcement  of  the  poll;  She  had  contrived  to 
become  so  much  absorbed  in  outer  things,  that  when  Mrs. 
Hereford  touched  her  on  the  arm,  she  started  back  to  a 
painful  remembrance  of  the  present,  and  saw  that  the  su- 
preme moment  was  at  hand:  with  throbbing  heart  and 
panting  breath  she  waited,  hope  struggling  with  fear,  yet 
always  coming  off  conqueror.  For  a  moment  there  was 
deathly  stillness  in  the  room ;  only  from  the  outside  came 
the  subdued  murmur  of  the  waiting  and  expectant  crowd. 
Then  the  returning  officer  announced  the  figures  :  — 


DOREEN  20I 

'     For  Mr.  Steele,  700,  For  Mr.  Hereford,  697, 

Conservative  majority,  three. 

The  room  swam  before  her  eyes  for  a  minute  ;  when  she 
could  see  again,  she  found  that  Max  was  shaking  hands 
with  the  new  member  courteously  enough,  but  with  a  dazed 
air,  as  of  one  who  has  just  received  an  unlooked-for  blow. 
The  action  touched  her ;  it  bore  witness  to  his  innate  cour- 
tesy, which  even  in  such  a  moment  was  not  to  be  laid 
aside.  As  the  new  member  turned  to  Mrs.  Hereford,  she 
came  close  to  Max,  and  slipped  her  hand  into  his. 

"  You  know  how  to  fail,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  and 
next  time  you  will  surely  win." 

There  was  bustle  and  confusion  in  the  room,  the  window 
was  thrown  open,  the  returning  officer  stepped  on  to  the 
balcony  to  announce  the  result  of  the  election,  but  the  two 
lovers  still  stood  a  little  apart ;  in  the  bright,  hopeful  blue 
eyes  lifted  to  his,  Max  forgot  for  a  moment  his  bitter 
disappointment. 

Already  he  was  thinking  of  the  changes  that  would  have 
come  in  his  life,  when  that  "next  time"  of  which  she 
spoke  had  actually  arrived. 

"  Shall  I  have  your  help  in  the  next  fight  ?  "  he  asked, 
below  his  breath. 

"  Why,  of  course,"  she  replied,  with  a  glance  full  of  sweet- 
ness and  confidence;  "you  will  always  have  it  when  you 
want  it." 

He  pressed  her  hand,  and  together  they  moved  towards 
the  window  and  once  more  heard  the  fatal  announcement 
and  the  mingled  cheers  and  groans  with  which  it  was  re- 
ceived. Then  the  new  member  spoke  a  few  pleasant  words 
and  politely  hoped  that  he  might  always  have  to  do  with  so 
honourable  an  opponent ;  and  when  the  victor  had  bowed 
himself  off  the  balcony,  the  crowd,  after  their  usual  some- 
what trying  fashion,  demanded  a  sight  of  the  vanquished, 
and  Max,  feeling  rather  as  if  he  were  stepping  on  to  the 
sca^old  at  his  execution,  went  out  to  receive  an  ovatioi) 


202  DOREEN' 

from  his  followers  which  was  not  a  little  trying  in  the 
present  state  of  his  feelings.  And  yet  there  still  lingered 
with  him  the  warm  pressure  of  Doreen's  hand,  and  that 
cheering  thought  of  the  next  time.  In  the  strength  of  her 
hopefulness,  he  spoke  a  few  straightforward,  manly  words, 
candidly  owning  his  disappointment,  confidently  looking 
forward  to  future  success.  "Let  our  honourable  defeat," 
he  concluded,  "  spur  us  on  till  at  the  next  election  our  cause 
may  have  an  honourable  victory." 

After  this,  Mr.  Steele's  supporters  dragged  his  carriage 
triumphantly  through  the  town,  amid  great  rejoicings,  and 
old  Killigrew  watched  the  procession  with  satisfaction. 

"  'E  is,  after  all,  a  very  moderate  Conservative,"  he  re- 
flected, "and  a  pleasant-looking,  urbane  gentleman;  there's 
something,  too,  that  pleases  me  in  the  way  'e  cuts  'is  beard. 
I'm  not  on  the  whole  sorry  that  'e's  to  be  our  member ;  'e'll 
be  a  credit  to  the  place,  there's  no  doubt  of  that." 

The  old  man  stood  on  his  door-step,  discussing  the  very 
narrow  majority  with  some  of  the  passers-by,  and  trying  to 
discover  if  there  was  any  likelihood  of  a  recount.  Presently 
the  sound  of  wheels  roused  him  from  this  discussion. 

"Why,  there  goes  Mr.  'Ereford,"  he  remarked,  making 
just  as  low  a  bow  as  he  had  made  a  few  minutes  before  to  the 
successful  candidate.  "  Poor  fellow !  'e  do  look  disappointed. 
I'm  really  sorry  for  'im ;  there's  a  deal  that's  good  in  'im, 
and  'e's  a  fine,  'andsome  fellow,  nobody  can't  deny,  though 
I  do  sometimes  wish  'e  would  grow  'is  moustache  just  a 
trifle  longer.  But  Lor'  bless  you,  'e  don't  think  much  of 
'is  looks,  or  'e'd  realize  fast  enough  that  'is  mouth  was  not 
the  best  feature  'e  'ad,  and  would  be  all  the  better  for  a 
little  more  'air  about  it.  All  'e  thinks  about  is  what  is  best 
for  'is  speechifying.  'E  do  look  mortal  fagged,  poor  fellow, 
an'  no  mistake." 

Max  was  in  truth  desperately  disappointed,  and  like 
most  high-spirited  people,  when  he  did  go  down  into  the 
depths  of  depression  it  was  no  easy  task  to  get  him  out 
again.     Tlie  Farrants  were  obliged  to  leave  directly  after 


DOREEN  203 

the  poll  had  been  declared,  and  there  was  something  very 
dreary  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  house  when  the  three  re- 
turned to  lunch  after  that  dismal  morning's  work.  Mrs. 
Hereford  and  Doreen  made  brave  efforts  to  talk  during  the 
meal,  but  Max  was  not  responsive,  and  afterwards  shut  him- 
self up  in  the  smoking-room.  As  for  Doreen,  she  fell  fast 
asleep  on  the  drawing-room  sofa,  more  tired  than  she  would 
have  cared  to  own,  by  the  strain  of  the  election. 

To  sleep  was  well  enough,  but  to  wake  to  the  remem- 
brance of  that  crushing  disappointment  was  hard,  indeed ; 
fortunately  she  was  too  sensible  to  waste  time  in  brooding 
over  the  inevitable,  and  springing  up  from  the  sofa,  she 
began  to  work  conscientiously  at  Solfeggi,  then  found  some 
pleasure  in  singing  "The  Meeting  of  the  Waters."  This 
speedily  drew  Max  from  the  smoking-room;  he  stole  in 
quietly,  not  drawing  near  to  the  piano,  but  waiting  in  the 
oriel  window  at  the  further  end  of  the  room,  forgetting  for 
the  time  his  miserable  depression  as  he  listened  to  the 
sweet  voice  and  exquisite  air.  The  words,  too,  fell  sooth- 
ingly on  his  ear. 

"  Sweet  vale  of  Avoca !  how  calm  could  I  rest 
In  thy  bosom  of  shade  with  the  friends  I  love  best. 
Where  the  storms  that  we  feel  in  this  cold  world  should  cease, 
And  our  hearts,  like  thy  waters,  be  mingled  in  peace." 

As  the  last  chords  died  away  into  silence  she  heard  his 
step  approaching. 

"  Oh,  is  it  you  ? "  she  cried,  her  face  lighting  up.  "  I 
never  heard  any  one  come  into  the  room." 

"  You  played  Orpheus  to  my  Eurydice,"  he  said,  smiling, 
"  and  witched  me  out  of  the  inferno  of  the  smoking-room 
and  of  my  dismal  reflections.  That  song  is,  after  all,  the 
most  beautiful  of  all  the  Irish  melodies." 

"  I  sang  selfishly  to  drive  out  my  own  dismal  reflections," 
she  replied.  "  I  took  Moore's  advice,  you  see,"  and  with  a 
smile  that  was  sweet,  yet  half  mocking,  she  turned  over 
the  leaves  of  the  book  and  pointed  to  the  lines,  — r 


204  DOREEN 

*'  Friendship's  balmy  words  may  feign, 
Love's  are  e'en  more  false  than  they ; 
Oh  !  'tis  only  Music's  strain 
Can  sweetly  soothe  and  not  betray  1  '* 

"Do  you  believe  that  ?  "  said  Max. 

"  Why,  no ;  not  a  bit,"  she  replied,  with  a  little  rippling 
laugh.  "  What  a  curious  creed  one  would  have,  if  it  were 
necessary  to  believe  all  that  one  sings ! " 

"  What  should  you  say  to  a  walk  up  Eooksbury  ? "  said 
Max,  new  life  seeming  to  fill  him  as  he  watched  her  sunny 
face. 

She  turned  a  little  on  the  music  stool,  and  took  a  rapid 
glance  at  him. 

"I  think,"  she  replied,  "you  are  too  tired  for  a  climb 
after  all  that  you  have  been  through." 

"  Does  that  mean  that  you  will  have  nothing  to  say  to  an 
unsuccessful  candidate  ?  " 

"  I  don't  break  my  promises,  but  we  should  perhaps  climb 
better  if  —  if  —  "  she  hesitated. 

"  If  we  climb  hand  in  hand  ?  " 

"Yes." 

Her  eyes,  which  had  met  his  for  a  moment  in  a  glance  of 
perfect  comprehension,  were  cast  down  now;  her  hands 
trembled  a  little  as  she  locked  them  fast  together  in  her 
lap. 

"Doreen!"  he  cried,  "we  seem  always  to  be  drawn  to- 
gether by  some  trouble  or  disaster.  But  to-day  I  had  made 
so  sure  of  success ;  to-day  I  had  hoped  all  our  dreams  of 
long  ago  were  to  be  fulfilled.  How  can  I  dare  to  ask  you 
to  be  my  wife  at  such  a  time  as  this  ?  I,  who,  at  the  best, 
feel  so  unworthy  of  your  love  ?  " 

"I  could  not  have  loved  you  so  much  had  you  suc- 
ceeded," she  said,  lifting  her  face  to  his,  with  a  light  of 
such  happy  trust,  such  perfect  love  about  it,  that  Max  was 
almost  overwhelmed. 

"  My  dearest ! "  he  cried,  folding  her  in  hi§  arms,  "  this 
is  worth  waiting  for." 


DOREEN  205 

And,  in  truth,  the  unexpected  event  of  the  morning  had 
greatly  altered  and  inexpressibly  deepened  Doreen's  feeling 
for  her  lover.  His  success  would  have  delighted  her ;  she 
would  have  been  full  of  eager  excitement  and  joyous  pride. 
But  his  rejection  stirred  within  her  that  passionate  sym- 
pathy, that  absolute  devotion,  which  she  felt  for  her  unhappy 
country. 

The  afternoon  which  had  begun  so  heavily  passed  away 
in  a  sort  of  dream  of  delight.  As  for  the  election,  it  was 
forgotten  with  all  else  belonging  to  the  outer  world,  and 
neither  of  them  had  the  least  consciousness  of  time.  They 
might  have  sat  together  in  the  cosy  corner  beside  the 
hearth  for  hours,  if  Mrs.  Hereford  had  not  after  a  time 
interrupted  them.  One  glance  at  the  two  of  course  told 
her  the  whole  story.     She  came  towards  them,  smiling. 

"  Are  you  ready  for  tea,  children  ?  "  she  said,  smiling. 
"  By  a  happy  impulse  I  was  moved  to  order  it  in  the  oak 
parlour,  which  looked  more  snug  and  cosy  for  such  a  small 
party,  otherwise  you  might  have  had  Thomas  breaking  in 
upon  you  with  the  tea-tray ! " 

"  Doreen  has  not  rejected  me  this  time,"  said  Max,  stoop- 
ing to  kiss  his  mother.  "  And  let  us  hope  that  Firdale  will 
follow  her  example  and  only  keep  me  waiting  a  few  years." 

Perhaps  under  other  circumstances  the  day  of  her  only 
son's  betrothal  might  have  been  a  trying  time  for  Mrs. 
Hereford,  but  coming  after  the  disaster  of  the  morning,  the 
glad  reaction  was  most  exhilarating,  and  dearly  as  she  had 
long  loved  Doreen,  she  had  never  loved  her  quite  so  well 
before.  No  one  else,  as  she  was  well  aware,  could  have 
driven  the  cloud  of  disappointment  from  her  son's  brow,  or 
made  him  bear  the  thought  of  the  long  hours  of  wasted 
work  so  patiently  and  uncomplainingly. 

"  And  here  have  I  been  wasting  my  sympathy  on  you  the 
whole  afternoon,"  she  said,  laughing.  "  I  left  him  in  the 
smoking-room,  bound  hand  and  foot  by  Giant  Despair. 
How  did  you  manage,  Doreen,  to  draw  him  out  of  the 
dungeon  ?  " 


2o6  DOREEPr 

"I  think,  perhaps,"  said  Doreen,  blushing,  "he  remem- 
bered, as  the  pilgrims  did,  that  he  had  a  certain  promise." 

After  tea  the  two  lovers  climbed  Rooksbury  together  to 
see  the  sunset.  The  wind  was  still  cold  and  blustering, 
but  they  cared  nothing  for  that.  Doreen  only  wrapped  her 
green  cloak  more  closely  about  her,  and  stepped  briskly 
forward,  feeling  ready  in  the  strength  of  her  new  happiness 
to  walk  for  miles. 

"  I  wear  my  election  cloak  to  give  it  a  new  and  happy 
association,"  she  said,  laughing,  as  they  climbed  slowly  up 
the  hill  beneath  the  stately  pines. 

"  I  think  you  should  put  it  away  for  the  next  election," 
said  Max.  "  Moreover,  it  is  not  convenient  for  us  now ;  I 
can't  get  at  your  hand.  A  sealskin  jacket  would  be  a 
hundred  times  more  comfortable ;  I  shall  get  you  one." 

"  That  would  be  beautiful  for  America  next  winter,  if  we 
go/' 

"You  are  going  to  America?"  he  said  in  dismay. 

"Oh,  nothing  is  settled;  I  must  talk  it  all  over  with 
you,"  said  Doreen ;  "  but  the  St.  Pierres  think  of  making 
a  tour  in  the  States.  We  should  be  away  from  September 
to  February,  and  they  are  most  anxious  that  I  should  accept 
their  offer.  Financially,  it  would  be  an  excellent  thing, 
but  I  have  not  yet  been  able  to  face  the  thought  of  leaving 
the  children  for  so  long." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  take  any  account  of  me,"  said  Max, 
with  a  reproachful  smile. 

"Indeed  I  do,"  she  replied  wistfully.  "It  is  for  your 
sake  that  I  think  I  might  screw  up  my  courage  to  consent 
to  the  plan.  You  see,  by  going  to  America  I  should  earn 
just  double  what  I  could  earn  in  England,  and  so  I  should 
be  all  the  sooner  free." 

"  Why  will  you  let  this  miserable  money  question  stand 
between  us  any  longer  ?  "  pleaded  Max.  "  You  know  all 
that  I  have  is  yours." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  answered,  pressing  his  hand ;  "  but 
all  the  same,  Max,  I  cannot  let  you  marry  the  family.     You 


DOREEN  207 

must  let  me  provide  for  the  children,  and  somehow  it  takes 
much  longer  than  I  thought  it  would  take.  Perhaps  I  am 
not  a  good  manager,  but  though  I  work  hard,  the  money 
seems  somehow  to  melt,  and  a  good  deal  will  be  needed  to 
start  the  two  boys  in  life,  and  to  get  a  really  comfortable 
provision  for  Mollie  and  Bride.  Then  there  are  so  many 
expenses  in  an  artiste's  life;  dress  is  a  very  heavy  item, 
and  with  regard  to  it  I  have  had  to  buy  my  experience. 
You  men  are  so  much  better  off  in  that  way,  —  always  able 
to  wear  black." 

"  I  am  thankful  you  can't  do  that,"  said  Max.  "  I  should 
like  you  always  to  be  in  white;  nothing  suits  you  so 
well." 

"  Yes,"  said  Doreen,  laughing.  "  You  said  so  long  ago, 
and  you  have  no  idea  what  a  struggle  I  made  to  meet  your 
wishes,  but  it  was  just  ruination.  The  dirty  floors  in  the 
artistes'  room,  and  the  constant  coming  on  and  off  the  plat- 
form, make  white  dresses  the  trial  of  one's  life.  And  then 
comes  the  next  bitter  piece  of  bought  experience,  —  the 
dyer.  Oh,  I  had  a  lovely  white  Liberty  silk,  and  in  an  evil 
moment,  having  worn  it  thoroughly  dirty,  sent  it  to  be 
dyed  peacock  blue.  It  came  home  looking  no  better  than 
alpaca,  —  perfectly  ruined.  I  shed  tears  over  that  dress, 
but  afterwards  we  had  some  fun  about  it,  drawing  lots 
whether  it  should  be  made  into  frumpy  frocks  for  the 
children,  or  given  to  the  Little  Sisters  of  the  Poor,  or  sent 
to  the  rag  and  bone  shop." 

"You  might  be  trusted  to  get  fun  somehow  out  of  the 
direst  mishap,"  said  Max,  laughing.  "It  was  after  that 
disaster  with  the  dyer  probably  that  you  insisted  on  wear- 
ing for  so  long  a  black  satin  dress  which  I  detested.  It 
always  made  me  think  of  that  woman  who  was  hung  in 
black  satin,  and  proved  unexpectedly  a  benefactor  to  her 
race,  by  sending  it  out  of  fashion  for  years  after." 

"  How  long  ago  everything  seems  ! "  said  Doreen.  "  The 
time  itself  has  passed  quickly,  and  yet  it  is  almost  like 
looking  back  on  another  life  to  think  of  that  day  when  I 


2o8  DOREEN 

met  you  on  the  steps  of  the  British  Museum,  —  that  last 
day  of  my  miserable  waiting-time." 

"  The  day  when  you  wanted  me  to  congratulate  you  on 
singing  at  a  city  dinner,"  said  Max,  laughing.  "  I  remem- 
ber very  well  how  I  hated  the  city  magnates  who  were 
going  to  requite  you  with  three  guineas." 

"  You  will  never  understand  how  a  drowning  man  catches 
at  straws,"  said  Doreen.  "Besides,  it  was  not  only  the 
getting  an  engagement  that  made  me  so  happy  that  day. 
Do  you  suppose  it  made  no  difference  to  me  to  find  that 
after  all  I  had  a  friend  in  London  ?  " 

"But  you  knew  so  many  of  your  fellow-countrymen  in 
town." 

"I  had  not  come  across  many  of  them  then,  and  Donal 
Moore  was  away  in  Ireland  that  spring.  It  was  quite  the 
saddest  and  loneliest  bit  of  my  life.  There  was  not  a  soul 
to  whom  I  could  really  talk." 

Max  smiled.  "You  will  never  make  me  believe  that 
you  were  long  silent,"  he  said;  "that  is  against  nature. 
You  mean  there  was  no  one  to  whom  you  could  confide 
secrets." 

"  I  have  no  secrets,"  said  Doreen.  Then  a  sudden  cloud 
and  smile  flitting  over  her  face :  "  At  least,  no  secrets  from 
you,  and  only  one  that  must  be  kept  from  the  world.  But 
there  was  no  one  with  whom  I  was  really  in  touch.  Then 
you  came,  and  with  you  all  other  good  things." 

"What  are  we  to  wish  this  time  at  the  wishing-tree  ?  " 
said  Max,  as  by  and  bye  they  stood  together  at  the  summit 
of  Rooksbury,  and  once  more  looked  over  that  wide,  exquis- 
ite view.  It  was  glorified  now  in  the  sunset  light,  and  the 
first  hues  of  early  green  were  bursting  out  in  bush  and 
hedgerow,  while  the  larger  trees  still  stood  out  brown  and 
bare,  relieved  in  places  by  the  dark  pines. 

"  What  are  we  to  wish,  darling  ?  "  he  repeated,  looking 
down  tenderly  into  the  bright,  winsome  face  beside  him. 

"  There  is  nothing  left  to  wish  for,"  said  Doreen,  dream- 
ily.     Then,   awaking  from  her  heaven  of  peace   to  the 


DOREEN  209 

recollection  of  the  struggle  of  the  morning,  she  made  a 
little  exclamation,  half  of  penitence,  half  of  amusement. 

"  Why,  what  am  I  thinking  of ! "  she  cried.     "  Of  course, 
we  must  wish  for  your  success  at  the  next  election ! " 

p  , 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"  Since  then,  through  all  the  jars  of  life's  routine, 
All  that  downdrags  the  spirit's  loftier  mood, 
I  have  been  soothed  with  fellowship  serene 
Of  sijigle  souls  with  Heaven's  own  light  endued." 

John  Campbell  Shaikp. 

"  I  WOULD  give  something  to  know  what  the  world  in  gen- 
eral will  say  to  your  piece  of  news,"  said  Michael,  as  on 
the  following  evening  he  sat  talking  to  Doreen  over  the 
nursery  fire. 

Mrs.  Muchmore  had  a  laudable  habit  of  retiring  very 
early  to  bed,  on  such  nights  as  her  mistress  did  not  require 
her  attendance  at  a  concert,  and  the  nursery  was  the  general 
resort  of  the  family,  being  one  of  those  delightful  rooms 
that  possess  the  supreme  merit  of  snugness,  —  a  quality  which 
in  a  room  corresponds  to  charm  in  a  human  being.  Its 
window  had  a  dull  prospect,  its  light  paper  was  the  reverse 
of  aesthetic,  its  carpet  was  merely  what  Mrs.  Muchmore 
termed  a  "  Kidder,"  and  yet,  somehow,  it  was  the  ever-cheer- 
ful "  house  place,"  available  for  every  purpose,  and  with  an 
extraordinary  elasticity  about  it,  accommodating  itself  in  a 
wonderful  way  sometimes  to  two  or  three  inmates,  some- 
times to  a  dozen. 

Doreen  sat  stitching  away  at  a  dainty  little  low  bodice, 
which  was  being  altered  for  the  next  week's  work. 

"  I  hardly  realize  yet  what  you  say,"  she  replied ;  "  and 
that  matters  to  me  more  than  anything." 

"Does  it?"   said  the  boy,  smiling,   and  evidently  well 

210 


DOREEPT  ill 

pleased  at  the  words.  "  Well,  I  say,  in  the  words  of  the 
old  butler  when  he  learned  that  his  mistress  no  longer 
needed  him,  '  But  what  be  I  to  do  ? '  Max  is  a  jolly  good 
fellow,  though,  and  I'm  awfully  glad  for  him." 

"  I  shall  never  say  I  no  longer  need  you,  dear  boy,"  said 
Doreen,  tenderly.  "  And  you  will  do  as  the  old  butler  did ; 
you  will  stay.  I  am  not  going  to  be  married  yet  awhile, 
and  by  the  time  it  really  happens  you  will  probably  have 
got  an  appointment  somewhere,  and  will,  of  course,  always 
look  on  our  home  as  yours  until  you  marry  and  set  up  for 
yourself." 

"  I  shall  have  to  go  abroad  before  I  can  make  anything 
of  a  living,"  said  Michael ;  "  and  Dermot  has  brains  enough 
to  get  a  scholarship  at  Oxford,  if  he  tries;  but  that  still 
leaves  you  with  Mollie  and  Bride." 

"  And  you  think  I  could  do  without  them  ?  "  said  Doreen, 
smiling  reproachfully.  "  Even  for  Max  I  couldn't  do  that. 
How  did  Uncle  Garth  take  the  news,  by  the  bye  ?  " 

"Oh,  he  was  greatly  pleased.  First  the  news  of  the 
election  made  him  chortle,  and  then  when  it  came  to  your 
engagement  to  Mr.  Hereford,  he  grew  quite  talkative.  I 
never  heard  him  say  so  much  in  his  life  except  about  a 
mummy." 

"  I  take  it  as  a  great  compliment  that  Uncle  Garth  should 
put  me  on  the  same  level  as  a  mummy!"  said  Doreen, 
laughing. 

Apparently  Aunt  Garth  was  equally  pleased;  nothing 
could  have  made  her  talkative,  but  happily  sympathy 
does  not  depend  on  words,  or  England  would  be  a  dreary 
place.  She  gave  Doreen  what  a  girl  so  greatly  needs  at  all 
times,  —  a  sympathy  more  ready  to  listen  than  to  suggest; 
and  her  great  pleasure  in  the  engagement  did  something 
to  still  the  longing  for  the  dead  father  and  mother  which 
inevitably  came  to  mar  Doreen's  complete  happiness. 

Naturally,  Max  Hereford's  relations  were  not  so  well 
pleased.  The  General  was  greatly  disturbed  when  the  news 
reached  him  on  the  Riviera.     He  had  not  much  regretted 

p  2 


212  DOREEAr 

the  loss  of  the  Firdale  election.  It  might  have  been  conven- 
ient to  have  Max  in  Parliament ;  but  it  went  greatly  against 
the  grain  to  think  of  a  Hereford  being  on  the  wrong  side. 
On  the  whole,  the  General  was  glad  that  the  Firdale  folks, 
by  a  majority  of  three,  had  elected  the  Conservative  candi- 
date. But  when  his  late  ward  wrote  to  announce  his  engage- 
ment to  the  Irish  prima  donna,  all  his  family  pride  rose  in 
arms. 

"  It  would  be  bad  enough,"  he  protested,  as  he  paced  to 
and  fro  beneath  the  palms  with  one  of  his  friends,  "  if  the 
boy  had  married  any  other  girl  out  of  his  own  set.  But 
that  he  should  have  chosen  Miss  O'Eyan  of  all  the  women 
in  the  world,  is  past  bearing." 

"Well,  my  dear  fellow,  you  know  class  distinctions  are 
not  what  they  once  were,"  observed  his  companion,  com- 
fortingly; "it's  rather  the  fashion  to  be  in  with  all  the 
celebrities,  the  actors,  and  public  singers,  and  all  the  Bohe- 
mians that  our  forefathers  despised.  And  I  have  always 
heard  that  Miss  O'Ryan  is  as  good  as  she  is  charming." 

"Oh,  it's  not  to  the  girl  herself  I  have  any  objection," 
said  the  General ;  "  but  consider  what  the  father  was  !  My 
dear  Garwood,  I  assure  you  that  man  was  mixed  up  with 
every  wrong-headed  movement  of  his  time.  As  a  young 
man,  he  was  implicated  in  the  Smith  O'Brien  rising  of  '48, 
and-was  in  jail  then  for  some  months.  Then,  in  '65,  he  was 
sentenced  to  penal  servitude  as  a  Fenian,  and  at  the  time 
of  his  death  he  had  taken  to  what  he  was  pleased  to  call 
*  constitutional  modes  of  agitation,'  and  was  an  ardent  Home- 
ruler.  Now,  frankly,  would  you  like  a  son  or  a  nephew  of 
your  own  to  marry  into  such  a  family  ?  " 

" Is  she  the  daughter  of  O'Byan,  the  Fenian? "  exclaimed 
the  other,  evading  a  direct  reply.  "Well,  I  never  heard 
that  before.  I  remember  reading,  a  few  years  back,  an 
account  of  his  death.  They  say  it  was  his  time  at  Portland 
that  ruined  his  health,  and  such  conditions  of  life  must 
have  borne  hardly  on  an  Irishman  accustomed  to  very 
different  surroundings.     Of  course,  I  can  understand  that 


DOREEN  213 

the  match  doesn't  precisely  please  you.  But  what  would 
you  have  ?  We  can't  expect  the  young  people  to  think 
of  our  feelings.  That  sort  of  thing  is  out  of  date.  And, 
after  all,  when  Miss  O'Eyan  is  once  married,  and  has 
retired  from  public  life,  the  world  will  soon  forget  all  about 
the  Fenian  father ;  she  will  probably  become  a  pronounced 
Conservative,  and  will  lead  your  nephew  back  into  the  right 
fold." 

"  Well,"  said  the  General,  half  mollified,  "  I  could  almost 
forgive  her  parentage,  if  she  would  really  do  that." 

Happening  to  catch  sight  of  his  daughter  at  that  minute, 
he  hurried  across  the  rough  beach  to  impart  the  news  to 
her.  Miriam  was  sketching  under  the  shade  of  a  red  para- 
sol.    She  looked  up  saucily,  as  her  father  approached. 

"  Letters ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  smile.  "  I  knew  you 
would  hear  from  Max  to-day.  He  will  write  a  long  account 
of  his  defeat,  which  we  saw  in  the  papers." 

"  On  the  contrary,  he  writes  a  long  account  of  something 
much  less  satisfactory,"  said  the  General,  ruefully.  "  He  is 
engaged  to  Miss  O'Ryan,  my  dear,  and  I  am  extremely 
vexed  with  him." 

Miriam  naughtily  clapped  her  hands  for  joy. 

"  Now  you  will  not  tease  me  any  more  about  him ! "  she 
exclaimed,  "and  that  dreadful  prospect  of  being  forced  to 
marry  a  philanthropist  will  no  longer  hang  over  me.  It  is 
the  best  news  I  have  heard  for  an  age,  papa ;  and  Doreen  is 
one  of  a  thousand,  and  will  make  him  as  happy  as  possible." 

"You  don't  seem  to  think  anything  of  what  the  world 
will  say  to  such  a  marriage,"  said  the  General,  irritably. 
"To  think  of  that  convict's  daughter  being  mistress  of 
Monkton  Verney  is  enough  to  try  the  patience  of  Job." 

"  It  is  odd  when  you  put  it  in  that  way,"  said  Miriam, 
reflectively.  "  How  well  I  remember  the  shock  it  was  to  us 
all  at  Castle  Karey,  when  she  —  a  little  scrap  of  a  girl  with 
a  great  bush  of  dark  hair,  and  a  shabby  frock  much  too 
short  for  her  —  announced  that  her  father  was  a  Fenian 
prisoner,  much  in  the  same  tone  in  which  I  might  have  told 


214  DOREEI\r 

any  one  that  you  lived  through  the  Indian  mutiny,  and  were 
a  V.  C." 

"Yes,  yes,  like  all  her  race,  she  is  wrong-headed  and 
perverse,"  said  the  General,  with  a  sigh.  "A  nice,  well- 
mannered  girl,  with  a  fine  voice,  I  quite  admit,  but  Irish,  — 
so  dreadfully  Irish." 

In  the  profession,  the  news  of  Doreen's  engagement  was 
received  somewhat  differently.  Mr.  Boniface  had  imparted 
the  news  to  the  first  arrivals  in  the  artistes'  room,  at  the 
Evening  Ballad  concert  after  the  election,  and  a  little  babel 
of  question  and  surmise  instantly  arose.  Was  Max  Here- 
ford the  sort  of  man  who  would  insist  on  her  retiring,  or 
had  he  some  sort  of  artistic  feeling  ?  Was  he  anything  of 
a  musician  himself?  Was  it  in  the  least  likely  that  he 
appreciated  the  prize  he  had  won  ?  and  so  on.  Ciseri,  the 
accompanist,  who  adored  Doreen  from  a  respectful  dis- 
tance, was  in  despair  at  the  news,  and  Terrier  himself, 
though  not  wholly  unprepared  for  the  tidings,  seemed 
depressed  by  them. 

"  We  all  wish  you  joy,  my  dear,"  he  said,  when  by  and 
bye  Doreen  arrived  with  Mrs.  Muchmore  in  attendance, 
"  but  we  are  nevertheless  extremely  sorry  to  hear  of  it." 

Doreen  stood  looking  at  them  for  a  moment,  then  burst 
out  laughing,  with  the  delicious,  irresistible  laugh  of  one 
who  is  utterly  happy. 

"  You  look  as  if  I  were  going  to  be  buried,  rather  than  to 
be  married ! "  she  exclaimed. 

"  And  so  you  are,  my  dear,  from  our  point  of  view,"  said 
Clinton  Cleve,  putting  his  shaky  old  hand  beneath  her  chin 
and  raising  the  sweet,  radiant  face  a  little,  so  that  he  could 
the  better  see  it.  The  veteran  was,  of  course,  privileged ; 
all  the  world  had  been  at  his  feet,  and  Doreen  was  touched 
and  pleased  by  the  kindly  words  he  spoke  to  her.  But  all 
the  same,  she  knew  that  Max  would  never  understand  the 
good  fellowship  of  the  artistes'  room,  and  that  little  details 
might  grate  on  him  just  because  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
a  somewhat  more  constrained  society.     For  the  first  time 


DO  KEEN'  2t5 

she  seemed  able  to  see  all  things  with  his  eyes,  and  a  little 
shadow  fell  on  her  happiness,  when  Ferrier  said  to  her,  — 

"  Is  it  decided  that  you  retire  on  your  marriage  ?  " 

"  Nothing  is  decided,"  she  replied.  "  I  am  just  a  little 
afraid  Mr.  Hereford  may  wish  it.  That  is,  unless  I  can 
make  him  understand  that  life  without  my  profession  would 
be  at  best  a  crippled  life.  In  some  ways  it  is  so  difficult  to 
make  any  one  who  is  not  an  artist  understand  anything 
about  it.  People  talk  as  if  art  were  a  mere  pastime,  to  be 
taken  up  or  laid  aside  at  will.  I  do  really  believe  that 
many  of  them  think  a  singer  can  sing  a  song,  or  a  composer 
produce  an  opera,  or  an  author  write  a  novel,  or  a  painter 
paint  a  picture,  as  easily  as  a  housemaid  can  turn  on  a  tap 
and  fill  a  water-can." 

Ferrier  laughed. 

"  We  must  try  to  persuade  your  jianc^J^  he  said,  "  that  to 
take  you  away  from  public  life  just  now  would  be  some- 
thing very  much  like  a  crime." 

"  Yes,  I  shall  turn  him  over  to  you,"  said  Doreen,  gaily. 
"  He  is  so  fair  and  open-minded,  that  directly  he  sees  any- 
thing, he  will  act  upon  it,  though  it  were  ever  so  much 
against  his  own  wishes.  He  is  one  of  the  very,  very  few 
Englishmen  who  really  do  try  to  understand  and  feel  with 
Ireland,  and  to  do  so  is  against  all  his  interests." 

"All?"  said  Ferrier,  with  a  humorous  glance.  "I 
should  have  thought  he  had  every  inducement  to  devote 
his  best  energies  to  your  nation." 

"Oh,  he  doesn^t  do  it  to  please  me,  I  assure  you,"  said 
Doreen,  "but  because  he  really  sympathizes  with  the 
oppressed;  he  would  feel  for  Ireland  just  as  much  if  I 
belonged  to  any  other  country." 

"No  doubt,  if  you  still  espoused  Ireland's  cause,"  said 
Ferrier. 

"  No,  no ;  not  at  all,  at  all,"  said  Doreen,  laughing.  "  I 
see  you  do  not  understand  how  utterly  unlike  he  is  to  other 
people." 

"  But  I  do  understand  how  insufferably  dull  other  men 


2t6  DOREKN' 

seem  in  comparison/^  interpolated  Ferrier,  smiling  good- 
humouredly,  as  he  quitted  the  room  for  one  of  his  songs. 

The  congratulations  of  Madame  De  Berg  were  of  a  some- 
what acid  nature;  her  very  politeness  seemed  venomous, 
and  she  took  a  spiteful  pleasure  in  hurling  the  news  at  Una 
Kingston,  who  turned  pale,  and  shrank  into  her  shell  of 
reserve,  from  which  Ferrier  and  Mr.  Boniface  tried  in  vain 
to  draw  her.  Only  Doreen  possessed  the  power  of  reaching 
the  shy  little  girl,  and,  happening  to  return  to  the  inner 
room  when  no  one  else  was  present,  she  instantly  under- 
stood why  the  tired  little  face  of  the  child-violinist  looked 
more  wistful  than  ever. 

She  gave  her  one  of  those  sunny,  cheerful  greetings,  which 
always  seemed  to  fill  Una  with  new  life.  The  child  at  once 
thawed,  and  became  her  true,  best  self. 

"  Oh,  Doreen,'^  she  said,  "  I  do  mean  to  try  and  be  glad 
for  you,  but  I  do  so  wish  Mr.  Hereford  had  waited  a  little 
longer." 

"  You  hard-hearted  child! "  said  Doreen,  laughing.  "  But 
don't  be  afraid,  you  have  not  lost  me;  and  who  knows 
whether,  after  all,  I  shall  retire  when  we  are  married?  I 
don't  at  all  want  to  play  the  part  of  the  ^  nightingale  in  the 
cage,'  as  Mr.  Boniface  says." 

"  Is  the  time  fixed  yet  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  and  it  can't  be  just  yet.  Don't  talk  as  if  it 
were  some  catastrophe !  Why,  you,  who  know  Mr.  Here- 
ford, ought  to  do  nothing  but  congratulate  me  ! " 

Una  liked  Max  well  enough,  but  she  was  jealous  of  him, 
and  she  did  not  consider  him  worthy  of  Doreen ;  but  she 
gulped  down  her  jealousy  with  a  heroic  effort,  and  turned 
to  other  matters. 

"  It  is  decided  that  I  go  to  America  in  the  autumn,"  she 
said,  sighing.  "I  do  wish  they  would  have  let  me  stay 
here." 

Doreen  made  an  ejaculation  of  regret. 

"They  will  certainly  kill  that  child  before  they  have 
done,"    she   thought  to   herself.     "Whom   are  you  going 


DOREEN  2X7 

with  ?  "  she  asked  aloud.  "  Your  agent  gave  you  no  choice 
in  the  matter,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  None,"  said  Una.  "  One  might  as  well  be  a  slave.  But 
it  is  the  losing  you  I  shall  mind  most.  It  is  M.  St.  Pierre 
who  is  getting  up  the  tour,  and  I  would  rather  go  with  the 
St.  Pierres  than  with  strangers.  And  it  is  just  possible 
that  Cousin  Flora  will  not  go.  She  said  M.  St.  Pierre  was 
already  in  treaty  with  another  soprano,  whose  reply  would 
have  to  be  considered  first." 

"  I  am  that  other  soprano,"  said  Doreen,  quietly. 

The  child  gave  a  cry  of  delight,  then  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

"  But  I  know  you  will  not  come  now  that  you  are  going 
to  marry  Mr.  Hereford,"  she  exclaimed  piteously. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  think  that  is  the  very  reason  why  I 
shall  be  able  to  come,  and  to  make  up  my  mind  to  leave  the 
children.  It  is  an  exceptionally  good  offer,  and  I  rather 
think  it  would  be  wrong  to  refuse  it.  Now  are  you  not 
grateful  to  Mr.  Hereford  ?  " 

Una's  face  became  radiant. 

"  To  have  you  for  all  those  months ! "  she  cried.  "  Why, 
it  will  be  like  heaven !  And  I  who  had  been  dreading  it 
all  so  much !  Are  you  sure,  quite  sure,  that  you  will  accept 
it?" 

Doreen  had  already  talked  the  matter  well  over  with  her 
lover,  and  had  only  been  waiting  for  some  "  leading "  that 
should  guide  her  to  a  final  decision.  The  leading  seemed 
plainly  given  by  this  forlorn  little  child-musician,  who  so 
sorely  needed  some  one  to  lighten  the  burden  laid  upon  her 
by  a  tyrannical  agent  and  a  foolish  guardian. 

"  My  mind  is  made  up,"  said  Doreen,  stooping  to  kiss  the 
little  girl.  "  I  am  coming  with  you,  and  we  will  have  a  real 
good  time." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

**  Government  against  the  will  of  the  people  governed  is  the  very 
definition  of  slavery."  — Grattan. 

Whether  it  was  the  unwelcome  prospect  of  the  long 
absence  from  home,  or  the  result  of  the  hard  work  during 
the  election,  or  merely  the  effect  of  all  the  excitement 
caused  by  her  engagement,  Doreen's  health  flagged  as  the 
spring  advanced.  She  made  light  of  it  until  her  voice 
began  to  suffer,  then,  after  a  little  persuasion  from  Mrs. 
Garth  and  Mrs.  Hereford,  she  consented  to  be  overhauled 
by  a  doctor,  who  decreed  that  she  must  have  three  weeks' 
rest.  It  was  in  vain  to  protest  that  the  season  was  at  its 
height,  and  that  she  had  work  which  she  could  ill  afford  to 
leave ;  the  authorities  were  inexorable ;  and  so  it  came  to 
pass  that  in  June,  when  society  was  hard  at  work  amusing 
itself  in  London,  and  when  the  workers  were  hard  at  work 
in  providing  the  means  of  amusement,  three  happy  travellers 
escaped  from  the  great  city,  and  early  one  summer's  morn- 
ing steamed  into  Dublin  Bay.  The  plan  had  been  Mrs. 
Hereford's,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that  it  was  likely  to 
prove  a  success.  Doreen,  who  had  joined  them  at  Euston 
on  the  previous  night  looking  thoroughly  exhausted,  seemed 
like  a  different  creature  as  she  stepped  on  to  the  deck  of  the 
steamer  on  that  bright  June  morning,  greeting  her  lover 
with  a  glance  of  such  radiant  happiness  that  Max  was  well 
content  with  the  decision  of  the  Firdale  electors,  and  rejoiced 
in  being  free  for  this  Irish  holiday. 

218 


DOREEN  219 

"  You  have  lost  the  blue-and-white  look  which  you  had 
last  night,"  he  said,  "  in  spite  of  all  the  hours  of  travelling." 

Doreen  laughed.  "  They  always  say  those  dreadful  blue 
shadows  round  my  eyes  make  me  look  like  a  willow  pattern 
plate !  But  the  very  first  breath  of  Irish  air  drives  them 
away,  you  see.  And  what  a  good  crossing  we  have  had !  It 
might  have  been  a  lake.  Come  round  to  this  side  and  let 
us  see  if  the  Wicklow  Mountains  are  clear.  Yes,  look ! 
there  they  are !  There  is  the  dear  old  Sugarloaf ,  and  there 
is  Bray  Head,  and  away  in  the  distance  must  be  Glenda- 
lough,  right  in  the  heart  of  the  mountains.  Let  us  keep 
my  birthplace  for  the  last  of  all, — the  honne  houclie;  but, 
perhaps,  to  you  it  will  not  seem  so  perfect  as  it  always  did 
to  me." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Max,  "it  is,  of  course,  my 
Mecca !    The  birthplace  of  the  Irish  nightingale." 

"A  very  pretty  speech,  but  unluckily  it  will  not  do; 
there  are  no  nightingales  in  Ireland.  It  is  a  pity;  but 
then,  on  the  other  hand,  there  are  no  snakes ;  St.  Patrick 
banished  them,  —  to  England  I  think." 

"Come,  come,  no  reflections  on  my  country,"  said  Max, 
laughing.  "How  pretty  Kingstown  looks  in  this  early 
morning  light !     How  long  is  it  since  you  were  over  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  have  been  here  every  year  since  my  d^hut  just  to 
sing  in  Dublin  and  Belfast  and  Cork,  but  never  to  stay  for 
more  than  two  or  three  nights  since  we  had  to  go  into  exile. 
To  think  of  three  weeks'  holiday  in  my  own  land  is  wonder- 
ful, and  I  am  glad  we  are  to  have  a  night  in  dear  old  Dub- 
lin, so  that  I  may  show  you  some  of  the  places  I  remember 
so  well." 

Doreen  proved  an  excellent  cicerone;  she  knew  Dublin 
as  one  knows  the  home  of  one's  childhood,  with  an  abso- 
lutely indelible  knowledge  not  to  be  gained  in  later  life. 
Its  streets  and  squares  were  so  impressed  upon  her  brain 
that  invariably  they  formed  the  background  of  her  dreams, 
often  after  a  highly  incongruous  fashion,  and  she  volun- 
teered an  amount  of  miscellaneous  information  which  sur- 


220  DOREElSr 

prised  and  amused  Max.  In  this  house  O'Connell  had  once 
lived ;  in  that  other,  on  the  left  side  of  the  road,  the  Duke 
of  Wellington  had  been  born ;  up  that  dull-looking  street, 
near  an  archway,  one  of  the  informers  who  had  betrayed 
the  Fenians  had  been  shot.  Here,  on  the  gateway  of  the 
Castle,  was  the  figure  of  Justice,  —  her  face  to  the  Castle, 
as  an  Irish  patriot  had  once  remarked,  and  her  back  to  the 
city  and  the  Irish  people.  There  was  a  curious  story,  too, 
about  the  scales  which  were  balanced  in  her  hand :  during 
the  Fenian  trials  the  scales  had  fallen  to  the  ground. 

"That  must  be  one  of  your  Irish  legends,"  said  Max, 
sceptically. 

"  No,  not  at  all ;  it  is  strictly  true,  I  assure  you,"  replied 
Doreen,  and  to  her  lover's  amusement  she  appealed  to  a 
gray-headed  official,  who  confirmed  her  story;  whereupon 
she  carried  off  Max  in  triumph  to  see  the  tower  whence 
Red  Hugh  escaped,  and  to  hear  all  manner  of  stories  about 
his  thrilling  adventures  among  the  Wicklow  Mountains. 

Of  Irish  history.  Max,  like  most  Englishmen,  was 
supremely  ignorant,  and  Doreen's  talk  and  the  close  study 
of  the  people  they  met  during  their  tour  served  to  make 
him  growingly  conscious  that  he  was  a  foreigner  of  a  totally 
different  race,  one  who  could  only  hope  to  understand  the 
true  state  of  the  case  by  making  an  effort  of  the  imagina- 
tion and  reversing  the  position  of  the  two  countries. 

"  ^  Put  yourself  in  his  place,'  seems  to  me  the  motto  which 
every  Englishman  should  adopt  before  trying  to  study  the 
Irish,"  he  said  once  to  Doreen,  when  the  frightful  misery 
of  the  people  on  the  Galtees  had  given  him  some  little  insight 
into  the  crying  evils  of  the  present  system. 

"That  is  what  most  of  your  countrymen  are  so  utterly 
unable  to  do,"  she  replied  sadly.  "  England  is  my  mother's 
own  country,  and  I  have  good  reason  to  love  it  well ;  but  I 
must  say  that,  though  the  English  at  heart  love  justice,  and 
will  often  go  out  of  their  way  to  champion  those  whom 
other  people  oppress,  yet  they  have  a  great  tendency  to 
bully  the  weak  who  belong  to  them.     Their  attitude  to 


DOREEN  231 

Ireland  always  makes  me  think  of  that  philanthropist  at 
whose  meeting  you  spoke  last  week;  he  will  plead  most 
movingly  for  the  miserable  people  in  the  sweaters'  dens  at 
the  East  End,  but  I  know  from  personal  observation  that  he 
tyrannizes  over  his  own  wife,  and  will  hardly  let  her  think, 
much  less  speak,  for  herself." 

Max  resolved  to  come  over  again  to  Ireland  alone,  and  to 
try  to  get  a  more  intimate  knowledge  of  the  great  prob- 
lems which  have  so  long  baffled  every  effort  at  solution. 
It  was  impossible,  while  travelling  with  his  mother,  to 
remain  long  in  that  desolate  region;  the  accommodation 
was  too  rough ;  and  they  were  obliged  to  move  on  to  Killar- 
ney,  where  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  scenery  charmed 
them  back  for  a  while  into  their  lovers'  paradise  of  hope 
and  joy,  and  entire  confidence  in  the  good  time  coming. 

"  It  seems  strange  that  I,  an  Irish  girl,  should  never  have 
seen  Killarney  before,"  said  Doreen,  "  and  that  you  saw  it 
years  ago,  and  will  be  able  to  lionize  me.  But,  you  see, 
when  we  lived  here  there  was  never  any  money  to  spare. 
I  remember  delightful  summer  holidays  at  Bray  and  among 
the  Wicklow  Mountains;  but  such  a  long  journey  as  this 
would  have  been  out  of  the  question.  And  then  when  I 
was  seven,  father  was  sent  to  prison,  and  all  the  money  was 
needed  to  take  us  over  to  England  for  those  disappointing 
visits  which  the  authorities  allowed  every  now  and  then." 

"  Were  they  disappointing  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears.  "  I  wonder 
how  you  would  have  felt  if,  after  months  of  separation,  the 
Irish  government  allowed  you  to  come  over  from  England 
to  Ireland,  and  then  when  you  were  just  longing  for  a  talk 
with  your  father,  you  were  stood  up  behind  a  grating  oppo- 
site a  sort  of  iron  cage,  into  which  they  presently  put  a 
prisoner,  cropped  and  shaved,  and  dressed  in  frightful  gar- 
ments* marked  with  the  broad  arrow.  But  oh,  dear,"  she 
said,  laughing,  "what  fun  my  father  did  make  of  those 
clothes !  How  well  I  remember  his  making  a  most  grim- 
locking  warder  shake  with  laughter  as  he  joked  with  us 


222  DOREEJV 

about  the  old-fashioned  knee-breeches  and  hose  worthy  of 
a  fancy  ball." 

"  Then  a  warder  was  always  present  ?  "  asked  Max,  call- 
ing up  a  vivid  picture  of  the  little  Doreen  he  had  known 
years  ago,  and  thinking  what  a  sunbeam  she  must  have 
been  behind  that  grating  in  Portland  Prison. 

"Yes;  the  warder  was  always  in  the  space  between  us 
and  the  cage.  It  was  that  which  made  it  so  disappointing ; 
the  time  went  so  fast,  and  all  the  while  one  felt  far  away. 
At  first,  too,  the  warders  were  very  brutal  men,  and  they 
loved  to  treat  the  Fenian  prisoners  with  every  sort  of 
insult;  but  as  time  went  on,  all  that  was  changed,  and 
during  the  last  year  they  had  the  kindest  warders  and  were 
treated  leniently.  I  believe  the  last  time  we  went  the 
warder  really  was  sorry  that  he  had  to  say  no  when 
Michael  begged  so  hard  to  come  into  his  little  inclosure, 
so  that  he  might  kiss  father  through  the  bars." 

"  I  often  wonder  that  you  are  not  more  bitter  against  the 
English,"  said  Max,  glancing  at  her. 

"  That  would  be  against  all  the  traditions  in  which  I  was 
brought  up,"  she  replied.  "  Never  was  there  a  more  gentle- 
hearted  man  than  my  father.  It  is  the  fashion  to  think  of 
the  Irish  as  bloodthirsty  ruffians,  who  delight  in  shooting 
people  from  behind  a  hedge ;  but  though,  of  course,  we  have 
some  bad  people  over  here,  just  as  you  have  criminals  in 
England,  the  bulk  of  the  people  are  exceptionally  sweet- 
natured  and  kindly  and  gentle,  ready,  of  course,  to  fight  for 
their  rights  like  any  other  brave  race,  and  naturally  hating 
to  be  tyrannized  over  by  another  nation  whose  religious 
views  clash  with  their  own." 

The  two  were  driving,  as  they  talked,  towards  the  en- 
trance to  the  Gap  of  Dunloe,  and  their  driver  now  inter- 
rupted them. 

"They'll  be  upon  you  in  a  minute,  sir,  wanting  you  to 
take  ponies  for  the  Pass." 

And  sure  enough,  a  regular  cavalcade  bore  down  upon 
them,  and  trotted  along  by  the  side  of  the  car,  shouting  and 


DOREEAT  223 

gesticulating,  each  man  urging  the  claims  of  his  own  steed, 
and  declaring  it  to  be  the  best,  the  most  sure-footed,  and 
the  prettiest  pony  in  all  Ireland. 

"  Such  a  sorry-looking  set  of  nags  I  never  saw,"  said  Max, 
laughing.     "  Do  they  always  attack  travellers  like  this  ?  " 

"Oh  yes,  sir,"  said  the  driver;  "but  don't  you  be  too 
yielding  to  them.     We're  not  nearly  come  to  the  Pass  yet." 

So  the  twelve  horses  galloped  along  in  attendance,  their 
owners  laughing  and  talking,  making  desperate  offers  which 
gradually  grew  lower  and  lower,  and  taking  the  whole  affair 
as  a  sort  of  joke. 

"  I  never  drove  before  with  a  mounted  escort  in  attend- 
ance," said  Max,  while  Doreen  laughed  till  the  tears  ran 
down  her  cheeks,  so  absurd  was  the  whole  scene,  so  inex- 
pressibly funny  the  faces  of  the  bargaining  guides.  At 
last,  for  the  sake  of  peace,  they  selected  two  ponies  from 
the  twelve.  Max  choosing  the  best-looking  nag,  and  Doreen 
picking  out  the  most  merry-looking  guide;  and  so,  some- 
what plagued  by  the  buglers,  the  blind  fiddlers,  the  stock- 
ing-knitters, and  all  the  other  tourist  paraphernalia,  they 
made  their  way  through  that  wonderful  mountain  pass, 
skirting  desolate  lakes,  and  shadowed  on  the  one  side  by 
the  dark  crags  of  the  well-named  "  Purple  Mountain,'^  on 
the  other  by  the  beautiful  Macgilly cuddy  Reeks,  whose 
grand  outlines  were  clearly  defined  against  the  soft  blue 
of  the  sky,  which  seemed,  all  the  more  lovely  after  the 
heavy  rain  of  the  previous  day.  Descending  again  into 
the  valley,  they  walked  down  to  the  Upper  Lake,  where 
Mrs.  Hereford,  who  had  come  from  the  hotel  in  a  boat, 
was  to  meet  them ;  and,  after  a  merry  picnic  on  the  shore, 
they  set  off  for  that  exquisite  round  of  the  three  lakes, 
which  in  its  endless  variety  is  nowhere  to  be  surpassed. 
Doreen  sang  softly  for  very  happiness.  The  Gap  of  Dun- 
loe  had  been  slightly  spoilt  by  the  importunate  tourist- 
hunters,  but  the  lakes  were  perfect,  and  all  the  legends  and 
songs  which  she  had  learnt  in  her  childhood  seemed  full 
of  new  meaning  to  her  as  the  boat  glided  past  Eagle's  Nest 


224  DOREEN 

and  Old  Weir  Bridge,  shooting  the  rapids,  passing  the 
lovely  little  nook  on  Dinish  Island,  catching  beautiful 
glimpses  of  Koss  Castle  and  of  the  ruins  of  Inisfallen,  and 
ever  with  the  thought  that  this  was  her  own  country,  the 
land  for  which  her  father  had  laid  down  his  life,  the  country 
which  had  been  the  Holy  Island  in  the  past,  and  for  which 
bright  days  were,  she  hoped,  in  store. 

"I  should  much  like  to  see  Castle  Karey  once  more,"  said 
Mrs.  Hereford.  "  How  would  it  be  if  we  spent  a  few  days 
at  the  hotel  near  the  church  there  ?  They  tell  me  it  is  a 
very  comfortable  one."  Max  glanced  a  little  anxiously  at 
Doreen. 

"  Should  you  like  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  said  truthfully;  "with  you  I  should  like  it 
very  much." 

So  once  more  they  journeyed  to  the  well-known  place,  and 
since  the  Castle  was,  as  usual,  empty,  they  were  able  to  visit 
it  once  more ;  to  walk  down  the  avenue  under  the  very  trees 
which  had  sheltered  them  on  that  wet  afternoon  ten  years 
ago;  to  wander  through  the  deserted  rooms,  recalling  the 
day  when  they  had  tried  their  fortunes  over  the  fire ;  and 
to  roam  through  the  wood  to  the  fernery  where  the  Keep 
still  stood,  looking  only  a  trifle  damper  and  more  dreary 
than  it  had  done  on  that  summer  day  in  the  far  past. 

Doreen's  face  was  unusually  grave  as  once  more  they  sat 
together  on  the  rustic  bench,  where  years  before  she  had 
taken  that  solemn  oath  of  secrecy. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of  ?  "  asked  Max,  trying  to  read 
the  expression  in  her  intent  blue  eyes. 

"  I  was  wondering  what  had  become  of  those  others  who 
share  our  secret,"  she  replied;  "wondering  where  Mr. 
Desmond  is,  and  what  has  become  of  old  Larry  and  his 
wife." 

"  I  have  a  great  mind  to  go  over  to  Lough  Lee  and  find 
out  if  they  are  all  right." 

Doreen  turned  pale. 

"  Then  I  too  must  come,"  she  said,     "  After  all^  though^ 


DOREEN  225 

I  shall  hate  to  see  the  lough  again ;  yet  it  seems  but  right  to 
find  out  what  became  of  the  old  people.  What  could  we 
take  them  ?  " 

"You  know  best  what  your  country  folk  would  like," 
said  Max.  "  I  might  understand  the  cottagers  at  Monkton 
Verney." 

"  The  Irish  are  not  so  different  as  all  that,"  said  Doreen, 
laughing.  "  There  is  nothing  that  old  Larry  would  enjoy 
more  than  a  shilling's  worth  of  tobacco,  and  Norah  had  bet- 
ter have  a  packet  of  tea." 

"  One  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole  world  kin,"  said 
Max,  with  a  smile,  as  they  left  the  fernery,  and  passing  out 
through  the  first  of  the  gates  found  themselves  on  the  high- 
road. "  Here,  by  the  bye,  is  the  exact  spot  where  you  and  I 
first  met ;  you  were  standing  just  over  there  by  the  hedge 
with  Michael  tucked  away  behind  you,  and  the  agent's  dog 
had  a  bit  of  your  red  cloak  between  his  teeth." 

"  How  frightened  we  were,  and  how  poor  Michael  cried ! " 
said  Doreen. 

"While  you,  with  a  white  face,  kept  bravely  assuring 
him  that  it  was  only  the  dog's  fun,  and  that  he  wouldn't 
hurt,"  said  Max. 

"  And  oh,  what  a  relief  it  was  to  look  up  and  see  you, 
and  Mr.  Desmond,  and  Miss  Hereford,"  said  Doreen.  "  I 
think  I  never  was  so  glad  to  see  any  one  before." 

"  Or  since  ?  "  said  Max,  teasingly. 

"Well,  I  can't  say*^that,"  she  said,  laughing.  "Where 
was  it  that  we  met  next  ?  Wasn't  it  in  the  wood  near  the 
waterfall  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Max.  "  We  thought  the  angels  must 
have  come  down  to  the  world  again,  but  suddenly  discovered 
that  it  was  our  little  Colleen  Bawn." 

"Colleen  Dhuv,"  corrected  Doreen.  "My  hair  was  as 
dark  then  as  it  is  now." 

"  Yes ;  but  we  called  you  after  the  red  cloak  which  Miriam 
told  us  went  by  the  name  of  a  *  Colleen  Bawn.'  We  saw 
the  glimpse  of  red  through  the  trees,  and  the  song,  we 


226  DOREEN- 

found,  was  too  plaintive  for  an  angel's  song.     It  was,  ^  I  wish 
I  were  on  yonder  hill.'  " 

"Ah,  to  be  sure,  a  lovely  air,  but  a  very  doleful  ditty"; 
and  Doreen,  with  that  unconventionality  and  freedom  from 
self-consciousness  which  characterized  her,  sang  as  they 
walked  along  the  country  road  the  sweet  old  Irish  song :  — 

*"  I  would  I  were  on  yonder  hill, 
'Tis  there  I'd  sit  and  cry  my  fill, 
Till  ev'ry  tear  should  turn  a  mill, 
Is  go  d-teidh  tu,  a  mhuimin  !  stan. 
Since  my  lover  ceased  to  woo, 
I  have  roamed  the  wide  world  thro' 
To  heal  the  heart  he  broke  in  two. 
Is  go  d-teidh  tu,  a  mhiiirnin  !  stan.'  " 

"  You  have  spoilt  me  for  singing  pathetic  ballads ! "  she 
exclaimed,  breaking  off  with  a  smile.  "I  am  far,  far  too 
happy  to  make  a  good  artiste." 

The  next  day,  leaving  Mrs.  Hereford  to  pay  a  duty  call 
at  the  Manse,  and  to  enjoy  the  lovely  grounds  of  the  hotel. 
Max  and  Doreen  set  off,  on  an  outside  car,  for  Lough  Lee. 
The  day  was  not  unlike  that  memorable  day  in  the  past,  — 
somewhat  gray  and  misty,  but  with  fitful  gleams  of  sun- 
shine. They  dispensed  with  a  driver,  having  no  mind  for  a 
third  person ;  and  Max,  though  he  professed  to  long  for  an 
honest  English  dog-cart,  was  glad  enough  to  have  the  reins, 
and,  in  his  heart,  rather  liked  the  motion  of  the  jaunting- 
car.  They  were  merry  enough  at  starting,  but  as  they  drove 
through  the  narrow  pass  among  the  mountains,  and  gradu- 
ally approached  the  too-familiar  place,  a  silence  fell  between 
them.  Doreen,  at  every  abrupt  turn  in  the  road,  feared  to 
catch  sight  of  the  lough,  and  as  they  gradually  descended, 
gaining  nearer  and  nearer  views  of  the  mountains  which 
surrounded  it,  her  heart  sank.  At  last  the  cold  gleam  of 
steely  gray  flashed  into  sight.  She  softly  touched  her  lover's 
arm. 

"  There  it  is,  Max,"  she  said  with  a  shudder. 


DOREEN'  227 

He  glanced  at  her  a  little  anxiously. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  ought  to  have  brought  you  here,"  he 
said.  "  Yet  I  fancied  it  might  be  a  sort  of  relief  to  see  it 
once  more  all  these  years  after.  How  deserted  it  all  looks ! 
Ah !  there  is  the  little  place  where  we  hired  the  car.  We 
will  put  up  the  horse  there,  and  then  walk  along  the  shore. 
That  is,  unless  you  would  rather  go  in  the  boat." 

"No,  no;  let  us  walk!"  said  Doreen,  a  sort  of  horror 
seizing  upon  her  at  the  idea  of  gliding  over  that  cold,  gray 
sheet  of  water,  beneath  which  lay  the  body  of  the  dead 
agent. 

Max  helped  her  to  alight;  it  relieved  her  to  hear  him 
ordering  tea  to  be  ready  in  an  hour.  Something  in  his 
matter-of-fact  tone  reassured  her,  and  she  began  to  look  for- 
ward to  gladdening  the  hearts  of  old  Larry  and  his  wife  with 
the  presents  they  had  brought.  To  reach  the  little  cabin,  it 
would  be  necessary  to  walk  the  whole  length  of  the  lake 
and  round  to  the  extreme  corner.  She  tried  to  forget  the 
horrible  scene  in  the  past,  and  the  wild  grandeur  of  the 
mountains  in  advance  of  them  appealed  to  her  and  for  a 
time  diverted  her  thoughts.  She  began  to  talk  of  other 
things,  and  to  gather  a  bunch  of  the  beautiful  London 
pride,  or  Erin's  pride,  as  she  said  it  should  be  called,  which 
grew  in  great  abundance.  Suddenly  an  exclamation  from 
Max  roused  her. 

"  The  cabin  is  gone !  "  he  cried,  looking  across  to  the  head 
of  the  lake.  And  there,  sure  enough,  on  the  little  plateau 
above  the  steep,  rocky  shore,  Doreen  saw  that  sight  which  is 
so  painfully  familiar  in  Ireland,  —  the  rude  outline  of  a  stone 
cabin,  deserted,  roofless,  telling  its  piteous  tale  of  unwilling 
emigrants,  or  of  harshly  evicted  tenants. 

"Let  us  ask  whether  they  have  emigrated,"  she  said. 
"  See !  there  are  three  men  over  to  the  left,  cutting  turf  in 
the  bog.     I  dare  say  they  will  know  all  about  it." 

Turning  away  from  the  lake,  they  made  their  way  towards 
the  turf-cutters,  who  all  paused  to  watch  them  as  they 
approached,  leaning  on  their  curiously  shaped  spades,  and 

q2 


228  DOREEN 

evidently  not  sorry  to  be  interrupted  in  their  dull,  monoto- 
nous work. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  what  has  become  of  old  Larry  Cassidy, 
who  used  to  live  here  some  years  ago  ? ''  asked  Max, 
addressing  a  pleasant-looking  man  of  about  thirty. 

"  It  would  be  ould  Larry  that  lived  in  the  cabin  by  the 
lough  that  you  are  manin'/'  he  replied,  crossing  the  deep 
trench  at  which  he  had  been  working  and  coming  towards 
them.  "  He's  dead,  yer  honour ;  both  of  them  are  dead  and 
buried  these  many  years." 

"  Both  dead ! "  said  Doreen,  with  a  little  shiver.  "  But 
why  is  their  house  roofless  and  deserted  ?  " 

The  man  gave  her  a  curiously  cautious  look,  and  appar- 
ently debated  within  himself  what  answer  he  should  make. 

"I'm  thinking  may  be  that  the  lady  is  Irish  herself  ?  " 
he  said,  eying  Max  somewhat  more  doubtfully. 

"To  be  sure  I  am,"  said  Doreen.  "You'll  have  heard  of 
Patrick^  O'Ryan  that  was  so  long  imprisoned  ?  I  am  his 
daughter." 

"  Sure  then  you're  as  welcome  as  the  flowers  in  May," 
said  the  turf-cutter,  his  whole  face  lighting  up  and  his 
manner  altogether  changing.  "  And  proud  is  it  that  I  am 
to  be  spakin'  with  ye.  As  for  ould  Larry  and  Norah,  it  was 
a  cruel,  hard  case.  Most  of  the  land  about  here  belongs  to 
Colonel  Mostyn,  a  rale  good  landlord,  the  best  in  the  coun- 
try. But  as  luck  would  have  it,  the  bit  down  yonder 
belonged  to  Lord  Byfield,  and  he,  why,  he  niver  comes  near 
the  place,  and  his  agents  have  iver  been  a  rascally  crew. 
There  was  Mr.  Foxell,  who  disappeared  ten  years  ago,  — 
the  people  they  just  hated  him,  and  many  think  he  was  put 
out  of  the  way.  Then  afterwards  there  was  another,  just 
as  bad,  named  Stuart,  and  'twas  he  that  ruined  ould  Larry. 
'Twas  all  for  the  laist  little  bit  o'  ground  he'd  made  with 
his  own  two  hands  out  of  an  ould  stone  quarry.  Many's 
the  time  I've  seen  the  crathur  carryin'  soil  on  his  back  to 
the  place,  and  it  took  him  years  to  do  it.  Then  by  and  bye 
comes  the  agent  and  wants  rint  for  this  small  little  piece  of 


DOREEN  22g 

land ;  but  Larry  he  had  sinse  and  spirit,  and  he  stuck  to  it, 
that  he'd  made  the  land  himself,  and  that  'twas  his  and  not 
Lord  Bytield's.  The  magistrates  they  agreed  with  him,  and 
said  'twould  be  a  cruel,  hard  thing  to  make  him  pay  for  his 
own  work.  But  the  agent  he  made  Lord  Byfield  carry  the 
case  up  to  Dublin  to  the  courts,  and  they  said  the  law  was 
against  Larry,  and  so  after  all  the  crathur  had  to  pay  the 
rint.  But  by  that  time  he'd  fallen  ill  with  the  worry  of  it 
all,  and  the  ould  wife  died,  and  Larry  he  lost  spirit  and 
said  'twas  no  use  to  work." 

"  And  then,"  said  Doreen,  "  the  English  tell  us  that  we 
Irish  are  a  lazy  lot,  and  that  all  the  distress  is  our  own 
fault." 

"  When  did  this  happen  ?  "  asked  Max,  with  a  pang  of 
remorse  for  having  neglected  to  come  before  and  see  how 
the  sharer  of  his  secret  was  prospering. 

"  Sure  thin,  yer  honour,  it  must  be  many  years  ago  now 
that  he  died.  We  did  what  we  could  for  him,  but  there 
was  no  rousin'  him  up.  He  would  sit  by  the  hour  together, 
spakin'  nivera  word,  and  at  last  after  many  threats  there 
came  the  day  when  he  was  to  be  evicted ;  and  thin  it  was 
that  a  bit  of  the  ould  spirit  stirred  again  in  him,  and  he 
barred  the  door  and  resisted  to  the  last.  Thin  the  agent 
gave  orders  to  break  open  the  door,  and  they  dragged  out 
the  ould  man  and  threw  out  his  bed  and  his  bits  of  goods. 
'Twas  little  enough  he  had,  the  crathur,  and  we  did  what  we 
could  to  hearten  him  up,  and  told  him  he  should  come  home 
with  us.  But  it  was  niver  a  word  he  was  spakin',  being 
past  himself  entirely.  It  was  a  cowld  day  in  March,  but 
there  was  no  gettin'  him  away  from  the  place;  he  stood 
yonder,  all  of  a  tremble,  starin'  at  the  men  as  they  tore  down 
the  roof  that  he'd  thatched  himself  nate  enough  in  past 
times,  and  it  wasn't  till  the  agent  had  taken  his  cruel  face 
out  of  sight  that  we  could  coax  him  back  with  us.  My 
wife,  she  made  him  warm  himself  by  the  fire,  and  I  gave 
him  a  drink  of  potheen ;  but  still  he  niver  spake  a  word ; 
only  once  late  that  evenin'  as  we  sat  round  the  hearth  we 


230  DOREEN' 

saw  him  stare  across  with  a  kind  o'  wonderin'  look  at  my 
wife  as  she  sat  there  with  little  Dennis  on  her  knee.  He  was 
a  twelvemonth  then,  and  sat  up  straight  and  strong  on  his 
mother's  lap  and  stritched  out  both  his  hands  to  the  ould 
man,  for  he  was  iver  a  friendly  hearted  child.  And  Larry 
he  stared  and  stared  and  seemed  pleased  like,  but  still  said 
niver  a  word;  only  we  saw  him  cross  himself,  and  his  lips 
moved  as  if  he  was  say  in'  a  prayer,  and  it's  my  belief  that 
he  thought  he'd  seen  the  Blissed  Virgin  and  her  Son. 
After  that  he  fell  asleep  peaceful  enough  in  the  chair  by 
the  hearth,  and  my  wife  and  I  went  to  bed,  but  in  the 
mornin',  when  we  looked  round,  Larry  was  gone. 

"  *  He's  back  to  the  ould  home,  you  may  be  sure,'  I  said 
to  my  wife,  and  went  out  to  find  him;  for  we  thought  the 
cruel  cowld  wind  would  make  him  ill.  But  I'd  not  gone 
many  steps  when  it  came  to  my  mind  that  I'd  niver  said 
any  prayers  that  mornin',  and  I  jist  turned  aside  to  St.  Pat- 
rick's Cross  before  walking  to  the  other  end  of  the  lough  in 
search  of  Larry.  Well,  bein'  in  a  hurry,  I  said  my  Pater 
Noster  as  I  went,  to  save  time,  and  was  jist  at  the  end  of  it, 
and  about  to  kneel  at  the  steps  and  say  an  Ave,  when  I  saw 
that  some  one  was  there  before  me.  It  was  Larry.  He  was 
with  his  two  knees  on  the  lowest  step,  and  his  head  restin' 
against  the  foot  of  the  cross.  I  let  him  be  for  a  while, 
niver  noticin'  that  he  was  too  still  by  half ;  for  the  wind  it 
blew  his  white  hair  and  a  ragged  cloak  he  had  to  and  fro. 
But  by  and  bye,  when  it  came  to  me  that  he  was  sayin'  his 
prayers  too  long,  I  touched  him,  and  he  was  as  cowld  as  a 
stone.  Then  I  took  him  up  and  carried  him  back  to  our 
cabin,  —  he  was  no  great  weight;  but  he  was  dead,  yer 
honour,  God  rest  his  soul,  —  stone  dead." 

Doreen  moved  away,  unable  to  keep  back  her  tears.  She 
heard  the  turf-cntter  telling  of  the  wake  they  had  given 
him,  and  of  how  people  came  from  far  and  near  to  it ;  but 
her  mind  had  gone  back  to  the  past,  and  she  was  thinking 
of  the  kindly  old  face  of  the  "Potato  man,"  as  Michael 
used  to  call  him,  and  of  the  piteous  desolation  which  had 


DOREEN  231 

befallen  him  towards  the  close  of  his  hard,  monotonous 
life. 

Max  looked  very  grave  when  he  rejoined  her. 

"  I  have  told  that  fellow  that  we  will  just  walk  on  to  the 
cabin,"  he  said ;  "  and  I  gave  him  the  things  we  brought. 
What  a  miserable  thing  it  is  to  come  back  to  a  place  too 
late ! " 

*'It  was  through  no  fault  of  yours,"  she  replied,  ever 
ready  to  make  excuses  for  him.  "  The  eviction  had  nothing 
to  do  with  that  past  time.  The  same  thing  about  the  ground 
made  out  of  the  disused  quarry  struck  the  new  agent ;  poor 
old  Larry's  eviction  was  but  hindered  for  a  time  by  Foxell's 
death." 

"Oh,  if  I  had  but  been  a  few  years  older  then!"  ex- 
claimed Max.  "  If  I  had  only  had  the  sense  to  induce  John 
Desmond  to  speak  the  whole  truth !  The  affair  would  have 
been  a  shock  to  my  mother,  and  his  idea  of  silence  was 
honourably  meant ;  but  how  much  better  it  would  have  been 
to  have  had  the  whole  thing  above  board  from  the  first ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Doreen,  musingly ;  "  a  man  in  Mr.  Desmond's 
position  —  practically  an  Englishman  —  would  have  had 
justice  done  him.  They  could  scarcely  have  called  it  mur- 
der. I  wish  so  much  that  we  had  not  lost  sight  of  poor  old 
Larry  and  his  wife.  We  ought  to  have  thought  of  helping 
them." 

"I  ought  to  have  thought,"  said  Max.  "You  were  a 
mere  child ;  and  after  all,  inquiry  might  possibly  have 
roused  suspicion  at  a  time  when  the  authorities  were  trying 
to  discover  the  truth  about  Foxell's  death.  Yet  I  might 
have  helped  him  quietly." 

"How  strange  it  is  to  think  that  we  two  alone  in  the 
whole  world  know  about  it,"  said  Doreen.  "It  almost 
frightens  me  to  think  that.  My  old  childish  fear  of  telling 
it  in  my  sleep  comes  back  now  and  then.  Ah,  this  is  the 
place,"  she  added,  shrinking  closer  to  him.  "Just  here 
they  fought  together,  and  here  is  the  overhanging  rock  from 
which  he  fell." 


232  DOREEN- 

But  to  Max  that  scene  in  the  far  past  seemed  less  tragic, 
less  terrible,  than  the  tale  they  had  just  heard  of  the  poor, 
ruined,  miserable  old  man,  ruthlessly  dragged  from  the 
home  that  was  dear  to  him,  and  dying  broken-hearted  at  the 
foot  of  the  Avayside  cross.  More  and  more  he  began  to  feel 
that  he  was  partly  to  blame  for  Larry's  eviction  and  death. 
He  might  easily  have  managed  to  send  money  to  the  old 
man.  It  had  simply  not  occurred  to  him.  He  had  con- 
tented himself  with  hoping  that  Lord  Byfield's  new  agent 
might  be  kind-hearted,  and  a  great  contrast  to  Foxell,  and 
then  he  had  done  his  best  to  dismiss  as  far  as  possible 
from  his  memory  the  whole  of  that  disagreeable  incident  in 
the  past. 

Max,  in  common  with  most  people  of  a  sanguine  tempera- 
ment, sometimes  fell  into  the  mistake  of  too  easily  banish- 
ing uncomfortable  topics  from  his  mind.  He  was  lacking, 
too,  in  that  strong  sense  of  responsibility  which  would  have 
suggested  that  to  all  time  Desmond  and  Doreen,  and  those 
other  two  who  shared  in  the  secret,  had  a  special  claim  on 
him.  That  habit  of  putting  away  unpleasant  thoughts  was 
at  once  his  strength  and  his  weakness.  It  made  him  full 
of  buoyant  trust  in  the  present ;  it  fitted  him  for  his  work 
as  an  ardent  reformer,  enabling  him  to  kindle  enthusiasm 
and  hope  in  a  thousand  hearts ;  but  it  also  occasionally  led 
him  into  error,  as  in  the  case  of  old  Larry,  making  him 
neglectful  of  plain  duties  which  many  a  less  noble  nature 
would  not  have  left  undone,  and  at  times  blinding  him  to 
the  truth  in  a  way  that  sorely  puzzled  those  who  loved  him. 
This  sad  story  had  startled  him  now  into  a  perception  of 
things  as  they  really  were.  He  stood  at  the  threshold  of 
the  roofless  cabin,  conscious  of  his  own  shortcoming,  sad- 
dened and  humbled  by  all  that  he  had  heard.  The  very 
stones  seemed  to  cry  out  to  him  to  rise  and  do  his  part  in 
helping  those  to  right  who  suffered  wrong.  Indignation  and 
strong  sympathy  replaced  the  sort  of  vague,  hesitating  pity 
with  which  he  had  hitherto  regarded  Irish  grievances  and 
Irish  hopes.     He  drew  Doreen  closer  to  him. 


DOREEN  233 

"  Dearest,"  he  said,  "  I  promised  long  ago  on  Kilrourk  to 
speak  for  Ireland,  and  I  renew  the  promise.  But  there  is 
much  I  might  have  done  that  has  been  left  undone.  It 
is  you  who  must  help  me  in  the  future,  you  who  must  keep 
me  true  to  my  best  desires.     Do  you  promise  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  she  said,  with  the  same  grave  strength  of  sim- 
plicity with  which  she  had  taken  her  confirmation  vow. 

He  pressed  her  to  his  breast.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the 
kiss  that  passed  between  them  was  the  kiss  of  her  life. 
Surely  no  other  could  ever  be  like  it. 

Slowly  they  retraced  their  steps,  paused  to  speak  a  few 
words  to  the  turf-cutter,  and  stood  for  a  minute  by  St. 
Patrick's  Cross,  Doreen  instinctively  saying  a  prayer  for 
Larry  and  his  wife.  Max  too  entirely  wrapt  in  sad  thoughts 
of  the  old  man's  hard  fate  to  dream  of  any  such  thing. 
Then,  after  a  silent  tea  at  the  rough  little  inn,  they  drove 
back  again,  Doreen,  at  the  last  moment,  putting  a  gold  coin 
into  the  hand  of  the  child  Dennis,  who  stood  beside  the 
jaunting-car,  looking  at  the  travellers  with  those  friendly 
blue  eyes  of  his,  which  to  old  Larry  had  seemed  indeed 
divine. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  Sweet  Wicklow  Mountains  !  the  sunlight  sleeping 
On  your  green  banks  is  a  picture  rare. 
You  crowd  around  me,  like  young  girls  peeping, 

And  puzzling  me  to  say  which  is  most  fair. 
As  tho'  you'd  see  your  own  sweet  faces 

Reflected  in  that  smooth  and  silver  sea. 
Oh  !  my  blessing  on  those  lonely  places, 
Tho'  no  one  cares  how  dear  they  are  to  me." 

Lady  Dcffekix. 

"  DoREEN  looks  to  me  a  little  sad  and  depressed,"  said 
Mrs.  Hereford,  as  that  evening  she  walked  with  her  son  in 
the  pretty  gardens  of  the  hotel. 

"  She  is  tired,"  said  Max,  "  and  this  place  is  rather  relax- 
ing, —  it  makes  me  even  lazier  than  usual,"  and  he  yawned 
comfortably  with  the  same  expression  of  relief  and  satis- 
faction as  a  dog. 

"  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  call  yourself  lazy,"  said  his 
mother,  glancing  with  pardonable  pride  at  the  well-knit  mus- 
cular frame  and  at  the  fresh,  glowing  face  that  was  so  dear 
to  her. 

"  It  is  a  melancholy  truth,  though,"  said  Max,  smiling. 
"  Had  I  not  had  you  beside  me,  mother,  I  should  have  been 
the  idlest  vagabond  in  all  creation.  If  I  do  any  work  in 
the  world  at  all,  why,  it  is  nurture,  not  nature,  that  is  to  be 
thanked  for  it.  I  am  lazy  enough  to  be  heartily  glad  now 
that  Firdale  is  represented  by  a  Conservative,  and  that  John 
Steele  is  at  this  moment  grilling  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
while  I  walk  in  this  garden  of  Eden  with  you." 

234 


DOREEN-  235 

"Well,  I,  too,  am  glad  we  are  all  here  together,"  said 
Mrs.  Hereford,  smiling.  "  Doreen  does  not  look  as  strong 
as  I  could  wish,  though,  and  I  can't  help  thinking  that  she  is 
fretting  over  old  memories.  No  doubt  this  place  makes  her 
think  of  the  days  when  she  was  here  with  her  mother,  and 
I  well  know  that  there  is  no  time  when  a  girl  so  longs  for 
her  mother  as  when  she  is  just  engaged." 

"  How  well  you  understand  her,"  said  Max,  touched  by 
the  words.  "  I  think  probably  the  place  is  a  little  trying  for 
her ;  what  do  you  say  to  moving  on  elsewhere  ?  " 

"  Let  us  go  to  County  Wicklow,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford.  "  I 
know  she  longs  to  see  the  Valley  of  the  Seven  Churches, 
where  she  was  born.  Perhaps,  among  her  native  mountains, 
she  will  get  back  her  strength ;  when  one  comes  to  think  of 
it  all,  the  hard  work  and  the  anxiety  and  sorrow  and  then 
this  sudden  reaction  of  feeling  has  been  a  great  strain  upon 
her." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Max,  and  he  wondered  to  himself  what 
his  mother  would  have  said  could  she  have  known  all  that 
Doreen  had  been  called  upon  to  bear. 

It  was  arranged  that  they  should  go  to  Glendalough  in 
two  days'  time,  and  Doreen  seemed  delighted  at  the  pros- 
pect. They  were  fated,  however,  to  come  across  yet  another 
sad  story  as  they  drove  to  Kilbeggan  Station.  The  driver, 
who  had  quickly  discerned  that  there  was  no  risk  in  talking 
openly  to  them,  told  them  many  details  with  regard  to  the 
various  estates  they  passed. 

Doual  Moore  had  estimated  the  evictions  throughout 
Ireland  during  the  last  six  months  at  one  thousand,  and 
they  questioned  their  coachman  as  to  the  state  of  things  in 
the  neighbourhood. 

"  There's  one  eviction  case  ye  can  see  with  yer  own  eyes," 
said  the  man.  "  I  know  the  farmer  meself,  and  he  was  a 
good,  hard-working  man;  but  there  were  over-many  chil- 
dren, and  then  for  three  years  the  harvests  were  bad,  and 
to  pay  the  rent  was  just  as  difficult  as  to  fill  a  sieve  with 
water.     Doheny  would  have  paid,  though,  if  his  landlord 


236  DOREEN 

would  have  given  him  time,  but  he  showed  no  mercy 
at  all." 

"  Was  he  one  of  the  Castle  Karey  tenants  ?  "  asked  Max. 

"  No,  yer  honour.  Mr.  Pethrick  was  his  landlord,  and  it's 
true  enough  that  he  himself  was  pressed  for  money;  but 
still  he  keeps  up  his  carriage  and  pair,  and  his  town  house 
and  country  house,  and  has  his  guests  and  his  amusements 
and  a  grand  display.  Such  things  can  be  afforded,  but  time 
for  a  tenant  half  ruined  by  the  failure  of  the  crops,  —  that 
he  couldn't  afford.  They  evicted  Doheny  two  months  since, 
and  pulled  down  his  well-built  house  that  had  cost  him 
two  hundred  pounds,  and  now  he's  forced  to  shelter  in  a 
miserable  shanty  that  we  shall  pass  in  a  few  minutes. 
There,  miss,  to  the  right,  on  that  bit  of  waste  ground;  that's 
what  he's  come  down  to,  and  he  a  respectable  farmer." 

"You  don't  mean  that  wretched  shed!"  said  Doreen, 
glancing  at  a  miserable  collection  of  loose  planks  and  furze, 
roughly  put  together  so  as  to  bear  some  distant  resemblance 
to  a  hut.  "  Why,  no  pig  in  England  would  be  allowed  to 
sleep  in  such  a  place.  Look !  there  are  some  children  play- 
ing outside.     Poor  little  things,  what  a  fate  for  them ! " 

"Stop!"  cried  Mrs.  Hereford;  "let  us  get  out  for  a 
minute.     We  can,  at  least,  give  them  our  lunch." 

And  so  the  three  travellers  got  out  of  the  carriage,  and  to 
the  no  small  delight  of  the  evicted  people,  climbed  up  the 
bank  to  the  door  of  the  wretched  shed,  where  a  turf  fire 
blazed  in  one  corner,  and  the  blue  smoke  wreathed  its  way 
out  through  the  many  yawning  crevices  which,  on  cold  and 
wet  nights,  proved  equally  convenient  apertures  for  incom- 
ing wind  and  rain.  An  extemporized  bed,  a  few  ragged 
shawls,  a  table,  and  some  pots,  pans,  and  crockery  com- 
pleted the  furniture  of  this  miserable  shanty  in  which  lived 
the  ruined  farmer,  his  wife,  and  eleven  children.  Doheny 
himself  was  away  at  work;  he  had  obtained  summer 
employment  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  earned  ten  shillings 
a  week.  This  kept  them  from  starving,  but  it  could  not  be 
expected  to  last,  after  which  all  that  stood  between  them 


DOREEN-  237 

and  that  dreaded  institution,  the  workhouse,  —  a  place  even 
more  detested  by  the  Irish  than  by  the  English  poor,  —  was 
the  kindness  of  the  neighbours,  who,  one  and  all,  sympa- 
thized with  Doheny  and  execrated  the  landlord's  cruelty. 
As  Doreen  talked  to  the  mother,  —  a  comely,  blue-eyed,  well- 
mannered  woman,  —  a  sort  of  fury  of  pity  filled  her  heart ; 
the  sight  of  the  little  wan  children,  just  as  pretty  and  inno- 
cent and  helpless  as  MoUie  and  Bride,  made  her  eyes  fill 
with  tears.  She  remembered,  with  a  shudder,  that  this 
eviction  case  was  only  one  of  a  thousand.  What  was  to 
set  right  this  terrible  wrong?  How  was  the  injustice  of 
centuries  to  be  remedied?  Who  would  free  her  country- 
men from  the  intolerable  state  of  bondage  under  which 
they  groaned?  Who  would  deliver  them  from  "Castle" 
rule,  and  give  them  a  national  Parliament,  and  remove 
those  bitter  grievances  which  had  rankled  so  long  in  their 
hearts  ?  Was  it  wonderful  that  from  time  to  time  there 
should  be  kindled,  even  in  a  naturally  quiet  and  patient 
people,  a  blind  wrath  which  threatened  to  break  out  into 
a  revolution  as  overwhelming  and  terrible  as  that  of  the 
French  peasantry  when,  maddened  by  long  ages  of  tyranny, 
they  rose  and  swept  their  foes  from  the  land  ?  She  emptied 
her  purse  in  that  forlorn  shanty,  all  the  time  miserably  con- 
scious that  no  temporary  almsgiving  could  heal  the  sores  of 
her  country,  that  no  tinkering  legislation  would  suffice,  but 
that  before  misery  and  distress  and  hatred  could  cease,  the 
injustice  itself  must  be  removed,  and  Ireland,  self-governed 
and  self-respecting,  must  work  out  her  own  salvation. 

Max  was  not  sorry  to  get  away  from  the  south  to  a 
region  where  the  distress  was  less  severe,  and  where  the 
relations  between  landlord  and  tenant  were  less  strained. 
It  was  on  a  singularly  beautiful  summer's  evening  that 
they  were  set  down  at  Rathdrum,  and  the  beautiful  valley 
of  Clara,  with  its  winding  river,  its  verdant  woods,  its 
gorse-covered  hills,  seemed  to  Doreen  even  more  lovely  than 
in  her  childish  recollections.  If,  perhaps,  the  mountains 
were  not  quite  so  high  as  she  had  imagined,  there  was  yet 


238  DOREEN- 

all  the  time  that  indescribable  charm  of  recognition,  and 
happy  memories  seemed  to  flood  the  landscape  with  a  glory 
which  no  Alpine  scene  could  have  possessed  for  her.  Max 
enjoyed  her  pleasure  unfeignedly;  even  the  trivial  little 
huts  of  the  poor  —  the  house  with  a  stable  door  in  the  form 
of  a  horseshoe,  the  curious  rhyme  on  the  Eest  House,  the 
cottage  where  the  old  woman  lived  who  had  cried  herself 
blind  at  the  death  of  her  husband  —  interested  him,  just 
because  they  brought  into  Doreen's  face  such  a  glow  of 
excitement  and  happy  recognition. 

"And  now  look  to  your  left,"  she  cried;  "there  is  the 
first  of  the  seven  churches,  that  tiny  ruin  down  below  us ; 
and  there  is  the  round  tower  of  Glendalough;  and  there  the 
little  lake ;  and  on  beyond,  nestling  among  the  mountains, 
you  just  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  larger  lake.  Oh,  how  home- 
like it  feels !     How  glad  I  am  we  came  here ! " 

"  What  are  all  those  cars  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Hereford.  "  Why, 
look ;  there  are  dozens  of  them  waiting  outside  the  hotel." 

"A  funeral,  I  think,"  said  Doreen.  "There  is  a  little 
graveyard  close  by,  I  remember." 

Max  having  ordered  dinner  at  once,  the  ladies  went  to 
their  rooms  to  dress ;  but  on  coming  down  at  the  appointed 
time,  found  no  dinner  ready,  only  a  worried-looking  old 
waiter,  who  came  up  to  them  with  many  apologies.  "You'll 
excuse  us  being  a  little  late,  ma'am,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Here- 
ford. "  Dinner  shall  be  ready  in  a  few  minutes,  but  we  are 
all  in  a  bustle.  You  see,  ma'am,  we  didn't  like  to  refuse 
the  funeral." 

"  Oh,  we  are  in  no  hurry,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford,  pleasantly. 
"  Was  it  some  one  from  the  neighbourhood  who  had  died  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am  ;  from  a  great  distance,"  replied  the  waiter. 
"  'Tis  a  sacred  place,  you  see,  —  Glendalough ;  people  come 
here  from  all  parts  of  the  country  to  be  buried." 

The  notion  of  people  "  coming  to  be  buried  "  upset  Max's 
gravity ;  he  went  out  into  the  garden,  shaking  with  laughter. 

"  That's  a  nice,  cheerful  remark  to  make  to  tired  travel- 
lers who  have  come  here  to  regain  their  health,"  said  Poreen, 


DOREEN  239 

gaily.  "He  might  at  any  rate  have  waited  till  we  had 
had  dinner  and  were  feeling  a  little  better." 

There  still  remained  a  week  before  they  need  return  to 
London.  The  weather  was  perfect,  and  the  two  lovers 
enjoyed  to  their  hearts'  content  the  lovely  shady  walks  by 
the  lake ;  while  Mrs.  Hereford,  who  was  something  of  an 
antiquarian,  delighted  in  St.  Kevin's  chapel  and  kitchen, 
and  made  friends  with  the  talkative  old  man,  who  loved  to 
show  off  all  the  quaint  relics  that  had  been  discovered.  On 
the  Monday  they  drove  through  the  lovely  vale  of  Avoca, 
and  Max  and  Doreen  spent  one  long  day  right  in  the  heart 
of  the  mountains,  driving  by  that  magnificent  road  made  in 
the  time  of  the  rebellion,  and  revelling  in  the  keen,  fresh 
air  which  blew  through  and  through  them  as  they  climbed 
higher  into  a  wild  region  of  bog  and  mountain  lake,  while  all 
about  them  rose  a  perfect  sea  of  hilltops,  stretching  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach  in  wave  upon  wave  of  gray  and  purple. 

Doreen  was  full  of  anecdotes  of  the  country ;  she  remem- 
bered her  father's  stories  about  Holt  and  brave  Susy  Toole 
of  Annamoe,  and  knew  precisely  the  right  path  to  take  for 
a  walk  down  to  Lough  Dan,  where  they  borrowed  a  boat, 
and  rowed  slowly  past  the  exquisitely  wooded  heights,  griev- 
ing to  think  that  they  had  only  one  more  day  left  for  County 
Wicklow,  and  making  many  plans  for  a  return  next  year, 
possibly  on  their  wedding  journey. 

The  last  morning  proved  gray  and  cloudy ;  but  after  a 
sharp  shower,  the  sun  came  out,  and  Mrs.  Hereford  pro- 
posed that  they  should  take  a  car. 

"  We  ought  to  pay  another  visit  to  the  Upper  Lake,"  she 
said.  "  Let  us  take  advantage  of  the  sunshine.  Surely  a 
day  that  clears  at  eleven  is  promising  even  in  Ireland." 

So  they  set  off  together  in  excellent  spirits,  planning  a 
drive  in  the  afternoon  to  the  Devil's  glen  if  the  weather 
should  permit. 

"  You  must  certainly  go  there  either  to-day  or  on  our  way 
to  the  train  to-morrow,"  said  Doreen ;  "  for  unless  my  mem- 
ory plays  me  false,  it  is  one  of  the  loveliest  places  in  the 


240  DOREEN 

whole  county.  Our  waiter  made  another  good  remark  yes- 
terday when  we  asked  about  it.  *  Oh,  the  Devil's  glen/  he 
said,  *  is  well  worth  visiting ;  but  the  proprietor  is  in  Eng- 
land, so  you  can't  drive  through,  but  must  go  on  foot.' " 

Max  laughed.  "I  see  you  love  to  dispose  of  the  devil 
and  of  the  snakes  in  my  country.  But  we  will  walk  through 
the  glen.     What  is  the  origin  of  the  name,  by  the  bye  ?  " 

"  Oh ! "  said  Doreen,  with  a  smile  that  rippled  over  her 
whole  face ;  "  it  is  rather  a  nice  old  legend.  St.  Kevin,  you 
know,  was  the  greatest  of  saints;  but  he  had  one  human 
weakness:  he  loved  gadding  about,  and  was  not  content 
always  to  remain  in  Glendalough,  but  would  visit  now  one 
part  of  the  country,  now  another.  People  wondered  at  this, 
and  one  day  the  saint's  niece  found  out  the  reason.  St.  Kevin 
was  bathing  in  the  lake,  and  she  kept  watch  at  a  little  dis- 
tance by  his  clothes  to  see  that  no  one  ran  off  with  them. 
What  was  her  surprise  when  she  caught  sight  of  two  little 
devils  sitting  in  his  brogues.  She  called  her  uncle's  atten- 
tion to  them,  and  he  threatened  to  send  them  down  to  the 
bottom  of  the  lake.  'Don't  send  us  there,'  implored  the 
devils ;  *  'tis  no  great  harm,  after  all,  that  we  have  done  to 
your  riverence ;  we  only  made  you  somewhat  too  fond  of 
travelling.'  Then  St.  Kevin  felt  sorry  for  the  poor  devils, 
and  he  said  he  would  not  send  them  into  the  lake,  but 
instead  he  banished  them  to  a  certain  wild  and  beautiful 
glen  at  a  little  distance;  and  ever  after  the  good  saint 
remained  at  Glendalough,  nor  desired  to  roam  as  before." 

"  I  like  those  old  legends  about  the  human  weaknesses  of 
the  saints,"  said  Mrs.  Hereford.  "  Stop  the  car.  Max,  for 
a  minute;  we  shall  get  a  good  view  of  St.  Kevin's  bed 
across  the  lake  just  here." 

There  was  a  little  break  of  about  a  hundred  yards  in  a 
plantation  of  firs  growing  on  the  shore;  the  bank  went 
sheer  down  on  to  a  tiny  strip  of  rocky  beach,  and  across  the 
calm  lake  they  had  a  lovely  view  of  the  rugged  Purple 
Mountains,  and  of  the  entrance  to  the  cave  known  as  St. 
Kevin's  bed. 


DOREEU  241 

"I  tliink  Moore  has  been  hard  on  Glendalough,'^  said 
Mrs.  Hereford.     *'  This  is  not  at  all  my  idea  of  — 

"  '  That  lake  whose  gloomy  shore  ' 

Skylark  never  warbles  o'er.' 

Anything  more  peaceful  and  lovely  I  have  never  seen." 

Max,  who  was  driving  as  usual,  felt  just  then  a  sudden 
strain  upon  the  reins  in  his  hand,  and  in  another  instant 
the  horse  was  kicking  and  plunging  desperately.  A  poor, 
half-witted  man,  in  a  white  suit  and  outlandish  straw  hat 
wreathed  with  ferns,  had  suddenly  emerged  round  the  cor- 
ner, and  the  horse,  startled  by  the  stealthy  movements  of 
this  strange  apparition,  gibbed  violently.  A  dreadful  mo- 
ment of  uncertainty  followed.  They  were  within  a  hair's 
breadth  of  the  little  cliff  above  the  lake,  when  suddenly 
the  poor,  half-witted  creature  settled  the  question.  Seeing 
the  great  peril,  yet  powerless  to  help,  he  uttered  a  piercing 
cry,  and  threw  his  arms  above  his  head.  The  horse,  in 
spite  of  all  that  Max  could  do,  gibbed  again  more  frantically, 
and  in  an  instant  the  car  and  its  occupants  were  precipitated 
over  the  edge  of  the  rock.  Doreen  was  flung  far  out,  but 
before  there  was  time  for  more  than  the  reflection, '  It  is  all 
over  with  us,'  her  dress  h:id  caught  in  a  thorn-bush  and 
she  was  thrown  violently  upon  the  bank. 

She  felt  bmised  and  shaken,  unable  to  think  clearly,  and 
when  a  bicyclist,  who  had  chanced  to  pass  by  just  at  the 
time  of  the  accident,  came  to  her  help,  she  scarcely  realized 
for  a  minute  that  it  was  not  Max  who  asked  her  whether 
she  were  hurt,  and  helped  her  to  disentangle  herself  from 
the  bush,  which  had  probably  saved  her  life. 

"  You  are  sure  you  are  not  hurt  ?  "  asked  the  traveller,  — 
a  pleasant-looking  Trinity  College  student  in  bicycling 
dress. 

"  Not  at  all,  thank  you,"  she  said  half  dreamily.  Then 
with  a  sudden  agony  of  recollection,  "  Where  is  Max  ?  Is 
he  hurt  ?  " 


242  DOREEKT 

"  Your  friend  is  over  there  by  the  car,"  said  the  student ; 
"  he  is  not  hurt,  but  the  lady  is,  I  fear,  injured.  Don't  go 
just  this  minute  ;  they  —  they  are  trying  to  reach  her." 

But  Doreen  was  not  to  be  hindered ;  she  struggled  to  her 
feet,  and  grasping  the  stranger's  arm,  made  him  help  her 
over  the  rocks  to  the  place  where  Max  and  two  other  men 
were  lifting  away  the  car  from  Mrs.  Hereford's  prostrate 
form.  She  pressed  forward,  and  it  was  upon  her  knee  that 
they  placed  the  deathly  white  face.  The  only  sign  of  injury 
was  upon  the  left  temple,  but  Max  at  the  first  glance  knew 
that  his  mother  was  dead. 

Perhaps  it  was  owing  to  his  own  fall  that  he,  as  yet,  felt 
nothing;  he  stood  silently  gazing  down  at  the  inanimate 
form ;  but  Doreen,  to  whom  the  dread  truth  had  also  been 
revealed,  scarcely  gathered  as  she  glanced  up  into  his  face 
whether  he  knew  or  not.  She  turned  to  the  student  who 
had  helped  her,  and  asked  him  to  ride  quickly  to  the  hotel, 
and  bid  them  to  send  help  and  to  order  the  doctor  as 
promptly  as  possible. 

Meanwhile,  the  poor,  half-witted  man  who  had  been  the 
cause  of  the  disaster  had  clambered  down  to  the  lake,  and 
now  he  came  shambling  forward  with  his  hat  full  of  water, 
talking  incoherently,  but  evidently  imploring  Doreen  to 
bathe  the  deathly  white  face  on  her  knee.  She  was  touched 
by  the  poor  fellow's  thoughtfulness,  and  though  she  knew 
too  well  that  all  endeavours  to  restore  life  were  vain,  she 
took  out  her  handkerchief  and  dipped  it  in  the  water,  softly 
bathing  that  one  dark  spot  on  the  left  temple  which  had 
caused  instant  death.  Perhaps  she  hoped  that  by  doing  so 
she  might  keep -Max  yet  a  little  longer  from  realizing  what 
had  happened,  or  it  might  have  been  only  her  innate  cour- 
tesy towards  the  poor  Irishman,  who  stood  watching  them 
with  the  frightened  gravity  of  a  child.  The  next  person  to 
arrive  was  the  old  guide  who  had  so  greatly  delighted  in 
Mrs.  Hereford's  love  of  antiquities. 

"  Ah,  poor  lady ! "  he  cried,  his  eyes  filling  with  tears  j 
"  I  little  thought  when  we  were  all  laughing  yesterday  at 


DOREEN  «43 

St.  Kevin's  chair  that  this  would  have  been  the  end  of  it. 
'Twas  she  herself  said  she  didn't  wish  a  long  life,  when  she 
found  that  she  could  not  span  the  cross  down  yonder,  and 
line  and  pleased  she  was  that  you  young  ones  could  span  it, 
for  she  said  she  would  like  you  to  be  spared  this  long  while. 
How  did  it  happen,  thin,  at  all,  at  all  ?  " 

"  The  horse  shied  when  that  poor,  half-witted  fellow  came 
suddenly  round  the  corner,"  said  Doreen,  "  and  gibbed  till 
the  car  went  right  over  the  bank  on  to  the  rocks." 

"  Poor  mad  Connor ! "  said  the  guide,  shaking  his  head ; 
"  he's  but  a  harmless  fellow,  and  wouldn't  hurt  a  soul  for  all 
the  world.  He  doesn't  belong  to  these  parts,  but  has  lived 
here  since  they  evicted  him  from  his  home  in  Donegal. 
And  it's  mad  he's  been  ever  since  the  day  they  pulled  down 
his  house." 

Max  made  no  comment  on  the  words,  but  he  sighed 
heavily.  It  seemed  to  him  impossible  to  stir  at  that  time 
in  Ireland  without  being  confronted  by  the  results  of  the 
bad  land  laws,  and  the  bad  harvests,  and  by  the  evicting 
landlord,  who,  like  the  servant  in  the  parable,  seized  his 
fellow-servant  by  the  throat,  saying,  "Pay  me  that  thou 
owest,"  disregarding  the  entreaty,  "  Have  patience  with  me, 
and  I  will  pay  thee  all." 

What  was  likely  to  be  the  end  of  it?  He  perceived, 
with  the  sort  of  dull  pain  which  was  all  he  was  capable  of 
feeling,  that  this  accident  which  had  robbed  him  of  his 
mother  was  indirectly  caused  by  the  wrongs  and  sufferings 
of  Ireland. 

How  long  they  waited  there  on  the  rocks  by  the  side  of 
the  lake,  he  never  knew ;  he  had  lost  all  sense  of  time,  but 
the  scene  stamped  itself  indelibly  on  his  brain.  He  could 
always  see  that  little  group  of  sympathetic  strangers,  and 
his  mother's  pallid  face,  contrasting  so  strangely,  in  its 
perfect  peace,  with  the  white,  anxious,  sorrowful  face 
of  Doreen.  The  girl  was  bare-headed,  and  the  fall  had 
loosened  her  hair,  which  hung  in  disordered  curls  about  her 
face,  making  her  look  curiously  like  the  child  Doreen  who 

b2 


244  DOREEN' 

had  steered  the  boat  on  Lough  Lee.  Something,  too,  of  the 
same  expression  of  strong  resolution,  holding  horror  and 
dismay  in  check,  could  be  traced  in  her  firmly  closed  lips 
and  earnest  eyes.  Beyond  her  stood  poor,  mad  Connor,  in 
his  outlandish  garments,  still  full  of  pathetic  belief  in  the 
power  of  fresh  water  from  the  lake  to  restore  life ;  and,  in 
the  background,  one  of  the  bicyclists  talked  with  the  old 
guide  in  a  hushed  voice,  speculating  as  to  when  his  com- 
panion would  return  with  help  from  the  hotel. 

Alas !  as  Max  knew  too  well,  the  help  could  do  but  little. 
When,  at  length,  the  landlord  and  several  others  came  to 
their  assistance,  and  the  last  painful  journey  had  been 
effected,  he  needed  no  words  from  the  doctor  to  make  him 
understand  that  his  mother  was  dead. 

"  There  can  have  been  no  pain ;  nothing  but  the  horror  of 
the  fall  which  you  yourself  passed  through ;  then  instan- 
taneous death,"  said  the  doctor,  turning  away  from  the 
bedside. 

Max  tried  to  speak,  but  his  voice  failed  him.  For  some 
minutes  there  was  utter  silence  in  the  room,  save  for  the 
subdued  sobs  of  the  faithful  old  Harding,  who  had  been 
Mrs.  Hereford's  maid  ever  since  her  marriage.  Then  Doreen 
put  her  hand  into  her  lover's,  and  drew  him  gently  aside. 

"  You  had  better  let  the  doctor  look  at  your  wrist,"  she 
said,  leading  the  way  to  the  next  room.  "  I  think  it  must 
have  been  sprained  in  the  fall." 

How  she  had  noticed  what  he  himself  had  been  unconscious 
of,  amazed  Max ;  but  there  was  relief  in  being  guided  like  a 
child,  —  relief  in  the  physical  pain  of  the  doctor's  examina- 
tion, and  even  in  the  pang  of  fear  that  shot  through  his  heart 
as,  for  the  first  time,  he  realized  the  peril  she  had  been 
exposed  to. 

"Are  you  sure  you  are  not  hurt,  darling  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Quite,"  she  replied,  disregarding  the  presence  of  the 
doctor,  and  bending  over  him  with  a  caress  which  conveyed 
to  him,  better  than  any  words  could  have  done,  her  perfect 
sympathy  and  love. 


DOREEN-  245 

"If  there  is  anything  I  can  do  for  you,"  said  the  doctor, 
"  pray  tell  me.  I  am  driving  now  to  Annamoe  and  could 
send  any  telegrams  you  please." 

"  Will  you  send  for  General  Hereford  ?  "  asked  Doreen, 
gently. 

Max  groaned. 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  ask  him  to  come,  and  I  am  afraid 
he  is  in  London  again  by  this  time." 

He  shrank  inexpressibly  from  the  thought  of  meeting 
any  one ;  and  hisL  uncle,  though  kindly  enough  in  his  own 
way,  was  a  man  who  would  be  likely  to  jar  upon  one  who 
was  in  great  trouble.  Then  he  realized  that  for  Doreen's 
sake  it  was  necessary  that  some  third  person  should  come 
over  at  once,  and  with  that  thought  came  a  more  miserable 
consciousness  of  his  loss  than  he  had  yet  gained. 

"  Leave  it  to  us,"  said  Doreen.  "  We  will  see  to  every- 
thing " ;  and  she  left  the  room  with  the  doctor,  and  going 
downstairs  to  the  comfortable  little  private  sitting-room, 
prepared  to  write  the  sad  news,  thankful  to  be  able  to  spare 
Max  in  any  way,  but  breaking  down  sadly  as  she  drew 
towards  her  Mrs.  Hereford's  own  writing-case  to  search  for 
telegram  forms,  and  noticed  all  about  the  room  the  signs 
and  tokens  of  the  one  who  had  been  so  suddenly  snatched 
away  from  them. 

The  doctor  was  glad  to  see  her  tears  blistering  the  paper 
as  she  wrote.  He  knew  that  it  was  the  natural  and  healthy 
relief  in  trouble,  and  that  whereas  her  calmness  and  pres- 
ence of  mind  had  hitherto  been  an  inestimable  help  to  her 
lover,  she  might  do  even  more  for  him  now  by  that  natural 
emotion  which  he  would  be  little  likely  to  yield  to  if  left  alone. 

When  the  kindly  Irishman  had  taken  leave,  and  all  the 
necessary  arrangements  had  been  seen  to,  Doreen  sought 
out  Harding  the  maid,  knowing  well  how  much  the  faithful 
old  servant  would  feel  the.  death  of  her  mistress.  But 
Harding,  who  had  broken  down  at  first,  became  calmer 
directly  she  saw  another  in  need  of  help  and  comfort,  and 
Doreen  found  great  consolation  in  her  homely  wisdom. 


^4^  DOkEEN' 

She  looked  through  fast-falling  tears  at  the  peaceful, 
smiling  face  of  the  dead,  and  Harding,  drying  her  own  eyes, 
was  glad  to  open  her  heart  to  one  so  thoroughly  sympathetic. 

"  I  never  saw  one  that  looked  more  happy,  spite  of  the 
sad  and  sudden  ending  it  has  been,''  said  the  maid.  "I 
have  not  seen  my  dear  lady  look  so  content  since  her 
marriage  day.  And  I  take  it  her  whole  life  here  has  just 
been  one  long  waiting,  —  her  months  of  happiness  were  but 
few.  And  oh,  miss!"  she  said,  replacing  the  sheet  once 
more  over  the  beautiful  face,  "I  think  it  would  have 
broken  her  heart  if  the  Lord  had  ordered  it  otherwise  and 
you  or  the  master  had  been  killed  when  the  car  fell." 

"But  what  can  we  do  for  him  now,  Harding?"  sobbed 
the  girl.     "  Oh,  what  can  we  do  ?  " 

Harding's  advice  was  simple  and  practical. 

"  Let  me  come  to  your  room  with  you,  miss,  and  do  up 
your  hair,"  she  suggested,  "  and  we  will  ring  and  order  tea 
to  be  taken  in  to  the  sitting-room,  and  then  I'll  persuade 
the  master  to  come  down  and  have  some  with  you.  He'll 
do  anything  for  your  sake,  miss." 

And  so,  shielded  and  helped  in  every  way  by  these  two, 
Max  passed  through  the  first  terrible  hours  of  his  bereave- 
ment. In  some  ways  they  were  far  less  painful  than  many 
of  the  hours  he  had  to  endure  later  on.  He  was  partially 
stunned  by  the  shock,  and  had  not  altogether  realized  what 
life  without  his  mother  would  be  to  him.  Doreen,  too,  had 
been  able  to  silence  his  agony  of  questioning  whether,  if 
he  had  acted  differently,  the  accident  could  possibly  have 
been  averted.  For  the  time  her  childlike  faith  had  soothed 
him,  and  worse  doubts,  which  were  to  haunt  him  later  on, 
had  not  as  yet  found  place  in  his  heart.  He  had  heard 
of  Harding's  words  about  his  mother,  and  as  the  evening 
wore  on,  he  more  and  more  realized  the  great  danger 
through  which  Doreen  had  been  kept  unharmed,  and  her 
devotion  and  perfect  understanding  made  him  thank  God 
that  he  was  spared  to  a  life  which,  without  her,  would  have 
been  blank  indeed. 


DOREESr  U7 

The  next  day  dawned  sadly  enough  for  them,  and  Max, 
who  was  a  novice  in  suffering  of  any  sort,  shrank  inex- 
pressibly from  talking  with  any  one;  his  sole  comfort  lay  in 
wandering  among  the  woods  near  the  lake  with  Doreen 
beside  him,  and  it  tried  him  infinitely  less  to  come  within 
sight  of  the  scene  of  the  accident  than  to  meet  the  sym- 
pathetic looks,  still  worse  to  hear  the  sympathetic  words,  of 
those  at  the  hotel. 

They  kept  on  the  further  side  of  the  lough,  and  presently 
found  a  little,  sheltered  nook  beside  a  tiny  waterfall,  where 
they  rested  for  hours,  sometimes  silent,  sometimes  talking 
a  little,  but  always  with  that  sense  of  perfect  unity  and 
rest  in  each  other^s  company,  which  was  their  best  comfort 
in  this  time  of  sorrow.  On  returning  to  the  hotel,  they 
found  a  telegram  from  General  Hereford,  who  had  reached 
Dublin  early  that  morning  and  might  be  expected  at  Glen- 
dalough  that  very  afternoon.  Max  sighed  heavily  and 
handed  the  paper  to  Doreen. 

^'  He  must  have  taken  the  night  mail,"  she  said,  trying 
hard  to  feel  grateful  for  his  promptitude,  yet  shrinking 
inexpressibly  from  meeting  one  of  whose  dislike  and  dis- 
approval she  was  too  sensitive  not  to  be  perfectly  well  aware. 

If  Max  had  welcomed  his  uncle's  advent,  she  would  have 
been  delighted  to  think  that  he  would  so  soon  be  with  them, 
but  it  was  quite  clear  that  he  dreaded  it  above  all  things. 

"I  will  leave  you  to  meet  him  alone?"  she  suggested, 
thinking  that  probably  this  would  make  it  less  painful  for 
him.     But  Max  would  not  hear  of  such  a  plan. 

"  Don't  go,"  he  cried,  snatching  her  hand  in  his,  as  they 
heard  the  arrival  of  the  car,  and  the  well-known  hearty 
voice  outside.  "  For  Heaven's  sake,  stay  and  talk  to  him, 
for  I  can't!" 

He  threw  open  the  door  of  the  private  sitting-room,  and 
with  an  effort  went  out  to  greet  General  Hereford. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I'm  so  glad  you  sent  for  me ! "  said  the 
old  man,  with  a  kindly  greeting ;  "  this  is  a  terrible  affair, 
terrible !  I  can  hardly  yet  realize  it." 


24S  DOREEN' 

"  It  is  good  of  you  to  have  come,"  said  Max,  struggling 
hard  to  control  his  voice.  "If  you  will  just  go  into  this 
room  for  a  minute,  I  will  see  that  your  things  are  taken 
up." 

And  hurrying  away  upon  this  pretext,  he  left  the  General 
face  to  face  with  Doreen,  who  swiftly  crossed  the  room 
to  greet  him,  with  the  spontaneous  warmth  and  hospitality 
which  naturally  came  to  her  aid.  He  started  a  little  on 
perceiving  her,  and  his  handshake  was  stiff  and  frigid. 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  you  were  here,  Miss  O'Ryan,"  he 
said  gravely. 

Although,  of  course,  he  did  not  add  the  words,  "  And  I  am 
extremely  sorry  that  you  should  be,"  his  tone  implied  them. 
At  any  other  time  Doreen  would  have  been  half  angry,  half 
amused,  but  to-day  the  disapproval  pained  her. 

"  I  was  travelling  with  Max  and  his  mother,"  she  said, 
her  voice  trembling  a  little. 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  he  said,  dropping  into  an  armchair ;  "  I  was 
not  aware  of  that.  A  most  sad  ending  to  your  tour ;  you 
must,  I  am  sure,  regret  having  planned  it." 

Doreen  was  silent.  The  tour  had  been  entirely  planned 
by  Mrs.  Hereford,  but  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  say 
this  ;  indeed,  it  was  a  moment  or  two  before  she  could  trust 
herself  to  speak  at  all,  and  the  tears  were  still  in  her  eyes 
when  at  last  she  said :  — 

"As  you  say,  it  was  a  most  sad  ending,  and  a  terrible 
shock  to  Max.  The  only  comfort  is  that  he  was  not  more 
hurt.     His  wrist  will  be  well,  they  think,  in  a  few  days." 

"It  all  comes  of  these  abominable  Irish  cars,"  said  the 
General,  irascibly ;  "  if  you  had  been  travelling  in  a  civilized 
country  it  would  never  have  happened.  But  what  can  you 
expect,  when  you  have  to  deal  with  a  lazy,  unenterprising 
people,  who  rest  content  with  old-fashioned  vehicles  of  that 
sort?" 

Doreen  felt  her  blood  grow  hot,  but  she  was  not  going  to 
be  betrayed  into  a  quarrel  with  General  Hereford  while  the 
dead  body  of  his  sister-in-law  lay  in  the  room  above,  and 


DOREEN  249 

though  trembling  with  suppressed  anger,  she  forced  herself 
to  get  up  in  silence  and  ring  the  bell. 

"  I  will  order  tea,"  she  said,  after  a  brief,  uncomfortable 
pause ;  "you  must,  I  am  sure,  be  very  tired,  after  travelling 
aU  night." 

The  General,  who  was  indeed  both  tired  and  sad,  was 
obliged  to  recognize  that  this  Irish  girl,  of  whom  he  so 
strongly  disapproved,  could,  on  occasions,  show  a  dignified 
courtesy  which  many  a  duchess  might  have  envied. 

"You  must  not  think  I  meant  anything  personal,"  he 
said,  with  awkward  anxiety,  to  make  up  for  his  unfortunate 
speech.    "  I  look  upon  you,  of  course,  as  practically  English." 

He  did  not  at  all  see  that  by  this  well-intentioned  remark 
he  had  reached  the  very  acme  of  rudeness,  and  Doreen 
could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  giving  him  a  little  thrust 
in  return. 

"  You  can't  expect  a  descendant  of  the  O'Ryans  to  take 
that  as  a  compliment,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  which  some- 
how made  him  feel  uncomfortable. 

A  knock  at  the  door  relieved  him  from  the  necessity  of 
replying,  but  his  brow  clouded  when  he  perceived  a  burly 
priest  entering  the  room,  holding  in  his  hand  a  great  bunch 
of  arum  lilies. 

"  Oh,  Father  Monahan,  is  it  you  ?  "  cried  Doreen,  starting 
up  to  greet  him. 

"Forgive  me  for  intruding,"  said  the  priest.  "I  saw  Mr. 
Hereford  outside,  and  thought  I  should  find  you  alone. 
Will  you  use  these  lilies  for  the  coffin?  There  was  a  hedge 
of  them  growing  round  a  little  cabin  a  few  miles  from  here, 
and  I  thought  you  would  like  them." 

"  How  very  good  of  you ! "  said  Doreen. 

"Nay,"  said  Father  Monahan;  "'tis  the  poor  woman's 
gift  entirely,  for  she  would  not  hear  of  taking  payment  when 
she  learnt  what  I  wanted  them  for.  You'll  never  find  truer 
sympathy  than  the  sympathy  you  get  among  the  Irish  ix)or.'' 

General  Hereford  stalked  across  the  room,  and  Doreen. 
rashly  concluding  that  he  meant  civilly  to  admire  the  flowers. 


250  DOREEN 

introduced  the  priest ;  but  the  General,  with  the  stiff  est  of 
bows,  passed  in  dead  silence  out  of  the  room. 

"  Oh ! "  cried  Doreen,  with  an  impatient  gesture,  "  isn't  it 
a  miserable  thing  that  even  at  such  a  time  as  this  he  must 
parade  his  contempt  for  the  Irish ! " 

Father  Monahan's  kindly,  weather-beaten  face  bore  a  look 
of  perplexity.  He  well  understood  the  needs  and  characters 
of  his  own  flock.  All  his  life  he  had  been  toiling  among 
them,  shepherding  them  with  that  wonderful  individual 
care  which  perhaps  reaches  its  highest  development  among 
the  best  and  most  conscientious  of  the  parish  priests  in  rural 
Ireland.  But  before  this  man  of  the  world,  this  English 
officer  bristling  with  the  prejudices  of  his  class  and  race 
and  religion,  the  old  priest  stood  fairly  bewildered. 

"  I  have  observed,"  he  said  in  his  mild  voice,  "  that  there 
is  a  certain  sort  of  Englishman  upon  whom  the  sight  of  a 
priest  acts  as  a  red  rag  acts  upon  a  bull.  I  am  sorry  I  hap- 
pened to  come  in  at  so  inopportune  a  moment." 

Doreen  could  only  comfort  herself  with  the  reflection  that 
Max  did  not  share  in  his  uncle's  prejudices,  but  she  went 
upstairs  to  weave  the  arums  into  a  wreath,  with  a  very  sore 
heart. 

Sitting  beside  the  open  window  in  her  bedroom,  however, 
the  peacefulness  of  the  summer  afternoon  gradually  stole 
into  her  heart.  She  was  glad  that  the  room  had  no  view  of 
the  lake,  only  a  distant  view  of  the  mountains  towards 
Laragh,  looking  higher  than  they  were,  in  reality,  through 
the  soft,  luminous  haze.  Down  below  she  could  see  the  cows 
wandering  into  the  yard  to  be  milked,  and  pausing  to  drink 
at  the  round  stone  fountain  in  the  centre.  The  cowherd 
crossed  over  to  one  of  the  sheds  with  his  stool  and  milk- 
pail  clattering  cheerfully,  while  the  beautiful  air  which  he 
whistled,  "  Billy  Byrne  of  Ballymanus,"  took  her  right  back 
to  the  days  of  her  childhood,  and  made  her  realize  how  true 
in  many  ways  is  the  poet's  saying,  that  "  memory  is  pos- 
session." 

It  was  a  comfort,  too,  that  she  had  much  to  do  for  Max, 


DOREEN  251 

and  his  look  of  relief,  when  she  appeared  again  at  dinner- 
time and  contrived  to  keep  General  Hereford  talking  serenely 
about  his  visit  to  the  Riviera,  repaid  her  again  and  again  for 
the  effort  it  cost  her.  Later  in  the  evening,  when  the  General 
was  dozing  over  his  newspaper,  the  two  lovers  wandered 
out  in  the  summer  twilight,  past  the  little  stream,  and  into 
the  old  churchyard  close  by.  The  ruins  looked  dim  and 
ghostly  in  the  dusk,  and  the  old  round  tower  stood  out 
solemnly  against  the  pale  sky.  There  was  something  com- 
forting to  Doreen  in  its  mere  strength  and  its  great  age. 
She  loved  to  think  of  the  old  times  when  free  Ireland  had 
held  an  honoured  place  amongst  the  nations,  and  when  this 
quiet  little  Glendalough  had  been  the  school  to  which 
youths  from  all  parts  of  Europe  had  been  sent  for  educa- 
tion. Then  she  sighed  as  she  remembered  that  the  place 
so  especially  dear  to  her  must  ever  have  for  Max  the  most 
sad  associations. 

"Our  last  night  here,"  she  said  softly.  "I  am  afraid 
you  will  never  wish  to  see  this  place  again." 

"  Don't  say  that,"  said  Max,  quickly.  "  The  place  where 
my  mother  spent  her  last  happy  days  can  never  be  spoilt 
for  me.  I  shall  certainly  want  to  see  it  again.  You  and  I 
will  come  together." 

She  gave  him  a  mute  caress.  Then,  after  a  few  minutes, 
resumed  once  more,  with  much  more  brightness  in  her 
tone : — 

"  I  had  been  half  afraid  that  this  must  give  you  a  dis- 
taste for  Ireland.     I  am  so  glad  it  has  not  done  that." 

"  I  think  it  is  quite  the  other  way,"  said  Max.  "  It  has 
made  me  more  than  ever  anxious  to  serve  your  country, 
darling." 

She  looked  up  into  his  face,  and  something  in  its  expres- 
sion of  pure  and  noble  purpose  made  her  heart  throb  with 
eager  joy,  and  with  all  her  being  she  thanked  God  that  it 
had  been  given  to  her  to  love  a  good,  true-hearted  man, 
who  was  ready,  cost  what  it  might,  to  take  up  a  cause  that 
was  likely  to  win  him  infinite  disapproval. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

*♦  Earth,  air,  and  sun,  and  skies  combine 
To  promise  all  that's  kind  and  fair ;  — 
But  thou,  O  human  heart  of  mine. 
Be  still,  contain  thyself,  and  bear." 

A.  H.  Clough. 

It  seemed  to  Doreen,  when  afterwards  she  looked  back, 
that  the  evening  talk  in  the  churchyard  at  Glendalough 
marked  a  turning-point  in  her  life.  It  was  the  high  tide, 
so  to  speak,  of  her  perfect  content  with  her  betrothal. 
The  very  sadness  of  the  moment  only  threw  into  stronger 
relief  the  rapture  of  the  consciousness  that  Max  was  hers, 
that  she  was  his.  And  even  the  remembrance  of  General 
Hereford's  hostility  only  raised  in  her  mind  a  triumphant 
sense  that  Max  was  the  one  Englishman  she  could  pos- 
sibly have  married,  and  that  he,  at  any  rate,  loved  and 
understood  her  country. 

But  no  sooner  had  they  left  Ireland,  and  after  the 
night  journey  found  themselves,  early  in  the  morning,  on 
the  desolate  platform  at  Euston,  than  the  miserable  incom- 
pleteness of  their  present  position  forced  itself  upon  her. 
It  was  terrible  to  her  to  be  sent  away  with  Harding  in  a 
cab,  and  to  be  forced  to  leave  Max,  with  the  General 
fussing  at  his  elbow,  to  superintend  all  the  painful  arrange- 
ments for  the  funeral  at  Monkton  Verney.  Her  heart  cried 
out  to  be  with  him  through  it  all,  and  it  was  with  an  intol- 
erable effort  that  she  turned  back  to  her  public  life  and 
to  the  weary  fulfilment  of  those  July  engagements  which 


DOREEN'  253 

could  not  be  shirked,  however  distasteful  to  her  in  her 
present  mood.  Happily  there  were  the  children  with  their 
eager  welcome  and  their  delight  at  her  return  to  cheer  her 
failing  heart.  Chubby-cheeked  Bride,  with  her  air  of  guile- 
less simplicity;  blue-eyed  MoUie,  with  her  clinging  caresses; 
dreamy,  tender-hearted  Dermot ;  and  chivalrous  Michael,  — 
made  a  goodly  quartette.  She  tried  to  forget  how  soon 
she  would  have  to  leave  them  again  for  that  dreaded 
American  tour,  and  lived  as  much  as  possible  in  the  present. 

The  first  meeting  with  Lady  Rachel  and  Miriam  took 
place  on  the  day  of  Mrs.  Hereford's  funeral.  Max,  who  had 
gone  straight  down  to  Monkton  Verney  with  his  uncle,  had 
written  to  say  that  a  special  carriage  would  be  reserved 
for  them  in  the  ten  o'clock  express  on  the  day  of  the 
funeral,  and  had  specially  asked  his  aunt  to  call  at  the 
house  in  Bernard  Street  for  Doreen.  His  fiancee  would 
have  preferred  going  alone,  but  acquiesced  in  his  arrange- 
ments as  being  no  doubt  the  right  thing ;  and,  though  Lady 
Rachel  grumbled  at  the  task  assigned  her,  she  could  not 
well  decline  it. 

"  I  wish  Max  had  never  come  across  this  Irish  girl,"  she 
murmured,  as  they  drove  in  the  direction  of  Bloomsbury ; 
"nothing  but  evil  has  come  of  the  connection.  It  was  a 
sad  day  when  your  aunt  first  took  it  into  her  head  to  spend 
a  summer  at  Castle  Karey.  I  remember  it  was  all  in  order 
that  Max  might  read  better  before  he  went  to  Oxford.  Poor 
woman  !  she  little  thought  what  a  train  of  disasters  were  to 
follow  on  that  apparently  sensible  scheme." 

"  Auntie  was  very  fond  of  Doreen,"  said  Miriam,  "  and 
indeed,  mamma,  I  think  she  and  Max  suit  each  other  splen- 
didly. It  is  great  nonsense  to  pretend  that  he  is  making  a 
mhalUance,  for,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  O'Ryans  are  just  as 
good  as  weiare.  If  the  father  and  the  grandfather  had  been 
cringing  ofiice-seekers,  they  would  have  been  rich  enough  by 
this  time ;  but  they  were  too  honest  for  that,  and  preferred 
to  be  outspoken  Nationalists." 

"My  dear,  don't  speak  of  it,"  said  Lad^  Rachel,  with  an 


254  DOREEN 

impatient  wave  of  the  hand;  "the  girl  has  the  most  dis- 
graceful pedigree  I  ever  heard  of :  a  great-grandfather  killed 
in  the  Eebellion;  a  grandfather  forced  to  fly  for  his  life  in 
'48,  and  dying  of  privation  among  the  mountains ;  a  father 
who  began  his  career  as  a  follower  of  Smith  O'Brien,  was 
afterwards  a  Fenian,  and  ended  up  with  being  a  Home- 
ruler.     What  can  you  conceive  worse  than  that  ?  " 

Miriam  laughed. 

"I  detest  politics,"  she  said,  with  a  little  shrug  of  the 
shoulders ;  "  but  really,  speaking  as  an  unprejudiced  neutral, 
I  should  say  it  looked  as  if  the  O'Eyans  had  the  courage  of 
their  opinions." 

"My  dear,"  said  Lady  Rachel,  plaintively,  "I  do  hope 
you  will  not  get  into  the  way  of  using  phrases  like  that ; 
they  are  all  very  well  for  an  article  in  the  '  Times,'  but  upon 
your  lips  they  have  a  very  unwomanly  sound." 

"Here  we  are  in  Bernard  Street,"  observed  Miriam, 
serenely.  "  I  am  curious  to  see  whether  Doreen  will  sacri- 
fice her  own  prepossessions  or  yours  in  the  way  of  mourn- 
ing." 

"  I  do  trust  you  will  not  catch  any  of  these  foolish  notions 
about  reform,"  said  Lady  Rachel,  looking  down  complacently 
at  her  gruesome  crape-bedecked  raiment,  over  which  the 
luckless  dressmaker's  employees  had  been  ruining  their 
health  and  their  eyesight  all  the  previous  night. 

"  Doreen  says  that  two  hundred  years  ago  it  was  thought 
absolutely  necessary  to  put  even  one's  bed  into  black,"  said 
Miriam,  with  a  mischievous  smile ;  "  perhaps  the  generations 
to  come  will  think  our  mourning  clothes  just  as  foolish. 
Ah,  here  she  comes,  in  a  black  serge  travelling  dress  she 
had  ordered  for  the  voyage  to  America,  and  with  the 
coloured  flowers  taken  out  of  her  Sunday  bonnet.  That  is 
a  compromise  out  of  regard  to  your  feelings,  ma:l  una." 

Doreen  was  pale  and  subdued ;  there  was  no  crape  on  her 
attire,  but  in  her  face  there  were  tokens  of  a  genuine  grief 
which  touched  Miriam's  kindly  heart.  Curiously  enough, 
though  Lady  Rachel  approved  so  strongly  of  grief  expressed 


DOREEN  255 

in  millinery,  she  condemned  every  other  expression  of 
grief  as  "  bad  taste,"  and  after  a  few  formal  inquiries,  she 
left  the  two  girls  to  themselves,  relapsing,  as  soon  as  they 
were  settled  in  the  railway  carriage,  into  a  comfortable  nap. 
Miriam  had  always  regarded  Doreen  with  a  good  deal  of 
admiration,  and  now  she  was  grateful  to  her  for  having 
saved  her  from  the  necessity  of  marrying  Max.  She  talked 
kindly  of  the  engagement,  and  asked  many  questions  about 
Castle  Karey  and  the  last  days  at  Glendalough,  learning 
from  Doreen  much  that  she  had  not  gathered  from  her 
father's  letters.  Indeed,  the  General  had  been  so  fussily 
full  of  funeral  arrangements,  that  he  had  told  them  scarcely 
anything. 

"  Papa  is  in  his  element  at  such  a  function  as  this,"  said 
Miriam,  irreverently.  "He  will,  no  doubt,  have  been  a 
great  help  to  Max ;  though  as  the  one  is  all  for  simplicity 
and  quiet,  and  the  other  all  for  pomp  and  ceremony,  there 
must  have  been  a  contest  of  wills.  But  papa  is  a  very  use- 
ful man  at  a  wedding  or  at  a  funeral ;  he  always  manages 
things  without  any  hitch.  Here  is  the  list  of  the  car- 
riages," and  she  handed  to  Doreen  a  black-bordered  card 
with  the  order  of  the  guests. 

The  girl  with  a  little  shudder  of  distaste  glanced  down 
it,  observing  that  in  the  first  carriage  Max  and  General 
Hereford  drove  alone,  and  that  in  the  last  the  names  were : 
Miss  Hereford,  Colonel  Hanbury,  Miss  O'K-yan,  Mr.  Claude 
Magnay. 

"  Is  that  Mr.  Magnay  the  artist  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"Yes;  he  is  a  second  cousin  of  ours,  and  not  unlike  Max 
in  some  ways,  though  a  little  older,  of  course.  I  shall  have 
to  walk  with  Colonel  Hanbury,  and  I  detest  him ;  he  was 
auntie's  first  cousin.  Mamma  ought  to  have  had  him  by 
rights,  but  I  see  she  is  put  down  to  Sir  Henry  Worthiiigton." 

The  name  brought  a  momentary  relief  to  Doreen. 

"  I  am  glad  he  will  be  there,"  she  said.  "  Ah,  there  is 
Rooksbury  just  coming  into  sight!"  And  through  fast- 
gathering  tears  she  looked  across  the  meadows  to  the  fir- 


2S6  DOREEN 

clad  hill,  the  outline  of  which  would  always  recall  so  many 
happy  memories. 

At  Firdale  Station  they  were  met  by  the  General,  and 
during  the  drive  to  Monkton  Verney,  Doreen  suffered  many 
things  at  his  hands ;  for  Dermot's  ''  Mr.  Worldly  Wiseman  " 
was  full  of  sore-hearted  vexation  as  he  realized  that,  before 
long,  this  girl  with  no  money,  and  no  special  beauty,  dow- 
ered only  with  a  rebel  ancestry  and  obnoxious  opinions, 
would  be  the  mistress  of  the  very  house  he  had  so  coveted 
for  his  own  daughter.  That  Miriam  sat  contentedly  beside 
her  on  the  best  of  terms,  only  increased  his  annoyance ;  and 
though  Doreen  was  too  true  an  Irishwoman  ever  to  be  at  a 
loss,  and  had  an  enviable  gift  of  turning  her  antagonist's 
weapons  against  himself,  yet  his  utter  lack  of  courtesy  and 
kindness  tried  her  grievously,  rousing  a  storm  of  indignant 
protest  within  her. 

It  was  a  relief  to  turn  from  his  undisguised  hostility  to 
the  chivalrous  sympathy  of  Sir  Henry  Worthington,  —  one 
of  those  old-fashioned  Tories  that  the  most  progressive  of 
mortals  would  regret  to  lose  from  public  life.  He  evidently 
realized  that  it  was  hard  upon  the  two  lovers  to  have  to 
meet  formally  in  the  drawing-room,  and  to  shake  hands  con- 
ventionally under  the  gaze  of  the  assembled  guests;  but 
General  Hereford  seemed  bent  on  keeping  them  from  hav- 
itig  even  a  moment's  privacy,  and  though  at  lunch  Doreen 
found  herself  beside  Max,  they  did  not  derive  much  com- 
fort from  that. 

At  the  funeral  she  was  not  even  beside  him,  and  after- 
wards the  ladies  of  the  party  had  tea  in  the  drawing-room, 
while  the  gentlemen  spent  what  seemed  an  unconscionable 
time  in  the  library  over  the  reading  of  the  will. 

Lady  Rachel  and  Miriam  intended  to  sleep  that  night  at 
Monkton  Verney ;  but  Doreen,  much  against  her  will,  was 
obliged  to  return  to  town  for  an  engagement.  As  the  time 
approached  when  it  was  absolutely  necessary  for  her  to 
leave,  she  grew  more  and  more  restless,  and  when  at  length 
ghe  heard  the  library  door  opened  and  a  sound  of  footsteps 


DOREEN  257 

in  the  hall,  she  sprang  up,  and  with  a  murmured  apology  to 
Miriam,  who  was  in  the  midst  of  a  description  of  Henley, 
went  out  in  the  hope  of  finding  Max  disengaged. 

The  time  left  would  be  short  indeed,  but  her  heart  leapt 
up  joyously  at  sight  of  the  well-known  figure  standing  near 
the  window  at  the  further  end  of  the  hall,  trying  to  look 
out  a  train  in  the  railway  guide. 

"  At  last  we  are  alone ! "  she  exclaimed,  coming  quickly 
towards  him.  "I  thought  General  Hereford  meant  to  keep 
us  apart  for  ever." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Claude  Magnay,  turning  round 
with  an  apologetic,  kindly  glance.  "  It  is  not  the  first  time 
that  I  have  been  mistaken  for  my  cousin.  I  suppose  at  a 
little  distance  there  must  be  a  good  deal  of  likeness." 

"Yes,"  said  Doreen,  startled  and  a  little  dismayed;  "I 
was  quite  deceived.     Have  they  nearly  done  in  the  library  ?  " 

"Very  nearly,"  said  Claude,  quick  to  discern  the  weari- 
ness and  impatience  which  a  less  keen  observer  would  have 
failed  to  notice.  "  It  must  have  been  a  dreadful  day  for 
you  two.     Max  must  be  longing  to  get  rid  of  us  all." 

"I  am  obliged  to  leave  for  London  by  the  five  o'clock 
train,"  said  Doreen.  "Unluckily  I  have  to  sing  in  Far- 
quhar's  new  Oratorio.  No  other  soprano  could  be  found  to 
learn  the  music  at  such  short  notice." 

"  You  will  be  very  tired,"  said  Claude.  "  But  let  us  at 
any  rate  circumvent  the  General's  plan  of  campaign,"  and 
with  a  smile  which  cheered  Doreen's  forlorn  heart,  he 
strolled  across  the  hall  to  the  library,  and  opening  the  door, 
put  in  his  head. 

"Max,"  he  said,  "just  one  word  with  you  here.  I'll  not 
keep  you  a  minute."  Then  as  his  cousin  stepped  out  of  the 
library,  glad  enough  to  escape  from  the  weary  talk  of  the 
lawyer  and  General  Hereford,  Claude  added  in  an  under- 
tone, "  As  one  side  of  the  family  seems  bent  on  keeping  you 
and  joiiT  Jianc^e  apart,  I  thought  the  other  side  had  better 
pull  in  the  opposite  direction.  Miss  O'Ryan  has  to  leave 
by  the  5.5,  and  so  have  I.  Can't  you  drive  down  to  the 
station  with  us  ?  "  s 


2s8  DOREEN 

"  Yes,"  said  Max.  "  And  for  goodness'  sake,  do  go  and 
keep  Uncle  Hereford  at  bay  for  a  few  minutes,  while  I  speak 
to  Doreen." 

Claude  nodded  assent ;  and  while  the  lovers  retreated  into 
the  oak  parlour,  thankful  to  snatch  even  a  few  minutes  of 
peace  out  of  the  miserable  day,  he  contrived  to  make  Sir 
Henry  Worthington  understand  the  situation,  and  to  pacify 
the  General  with  assurances  that  Max  would  return  almost 
immediately.  Nor  was  this  his  only  piece  of  kindness ;  for 
after  the  General  had  seen  him  safely  into  the  closed  car- 
riage with  Max  and  Doreen,  he  discovered  the  moment  they 
had  passed  the  gates  that  he  had  a  headache,  and  that  noth- 
ing but  a  cigar  on  the  box  would  cure  it;  so  that  once 
more  the  two  were  left  to  themselves. 

"How  good  he  is!"  said  Doreen.  "We  owe  this  to  his 
management.  Oh,  Max !  I  wish  I  need  not  run  away  and 
leave  you  like  this.  If  Madame  De  Berg  had  been  on  good 
terms  with  me,  she  could  have  taken  my  place  to-night ;  but 
of  course  she  wouldn't  stir  a  finger  to  help  a  rival,  and  no 
one  else  knew  the  music." 

"  Have  you  many  more  engagements  ?  "  asked  Max.  "  I 
hate  to  think  of  your  going  back  to-night  to  sing  that  trying 
part,  when  already  you  are  tired  out." 

"I  have  no  engagements  in  London  after  the  25th,  and 
little  enough  after  that  until  we  go  to  America,  except  an 
occasional  concert  in  the  provinces." 

"An  idea  has  just  come  to  me,"  said  Max.  "Why  should 
you  not  bring  the  children  down  here  for  the  rest  of  the 
summer  ?  I  will  get  some  cousin  or  aunt  to  see  to  the  house 
and  satisfy  the  proprieties." 

"  Not  Lady  Eachel ! "  pleaded  Doreen.  "  I  am  sure  she 
hates  me,  and  indeed  I  am  afraid  none  of  your  relations  are 
likely  to  approve  of  me,  specially  just  now." 

"There  is  one  who  already  likes  you,"  said  Max,  "and 
that  is  Claude  Magnay.  If  we  could  persuade  him  to  come 
down  and  paint  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  could  induce  his 
little  French  wife  to  take  charge  of  things  at  Monkton 
Vemey,  nothing  could  be  better." 


DOREEN  259 

^'  Should  I  get  on  with  her  ?  "  asked  Doreen,  doubtfully. 

"With  Esperance?  Why,  of  course  you  would.  She 
has  been  through  so  much  herself,  poor  little  woman,  that 
you  may  be  quite  sure  she  will  sympathize  with  you.  There 
are  two  children  who  would  fit  in  well  with  Mollis  and 
Bride." 

They  became  quite  cheerful  in  talking  over  this  plan, 
and  discussed  it  anew  with  Claude  at  the  Firdale  station. 
He  fell  in  with  the  idea  readily  enough,  and  secretly 
enjoyed  thwarting  the  General's  unamiable  scheme.  But 
he  knew  that  Uncle  Hereford  was  an  old  campaigner,  and 
was  thoroughly  convinced  that  the  lovers  would  find  it  no 
easy  task  entirely  to  baffle  him. 

August  proved  as  happy  as  any  month  could  be  which 
lay  between  the  tragedy  at  Glendalough  and  the  dark 
shadow  of  the  coming  separation.  It  was  at  any  rate 
peaceful,  and  there  were  no  jarring  elements  in  the  house. 
Esperance,  with  her  tact  and  sympathy,  her  little,  gracious, 
foreign  manner,  and  her  quick  understanding  of  the  two 
lovers,  proved  an  ideal  mistress  of  the  ceremonies.  She 
and  Doreen  became  firm  friends,  while  little  Noel  and 
Aimee  adopted  the  O'Ryan  children  from  the  first,  and 
kept  the  saddened  household  bright  with  their  laughter 
and  play. 

With  what  a  grievous  struggle  Doreen  left  all  this  behind 
and  joined  the  concert  party  at  Liverpool  to  keep  that 
American  engagement,  from  which  there  was  no  escaping, 
can  w^ell  be  imagined.  Max  would  have  travelled  down 
with  her  and  seen  the  last  of  the  steamer,  but,  knowing 
how  trying  this  would  be  to  him  in  every  way,  she  had 
persuaded  him  to  remain  at  Monkton  Verney,  where  the 
party  was  not  to  break  up  for  another  week. 

"It  is  better  for  me,"  she  urged,  "to  get  all  my  good-byes 
over  at  once,  and  I  shall  like  to  think  that  I  leave  the 
children  with  you.  To  see  people  off  in  a  steamer  is 
always  a  mistake.  Nothing  accentuates  the  parting  so 
much." 

b2 


26o      '  DOREEN 

So  Max  was  forced  to  content  himself  with  putting  her 
into  the  train  at  Euston,  his  blank  depression  being  for  a 
time  relieved  by  the  pretty  sight  of  little  Una  Kingston's 
happiness. 

The  child  stood  waiting  for  Doreen  on  the  platform,  her 
violin-case  in  her  hand,  and  a  smart  French  maid  keeping 
guard  over  her  luggage.  There  was  something  forlorn - 
looking  about  this  fragile  little  prodigy  about  to  be 
launched  on  that  long,  wearing  tour,  for  which  her  strength 
seemed  wholly  inadequate.  But  there  was  no  mistaking 
the  intense  delight  with  which  she  greeted  Doreen,  or  the 
shy  sympathy  with  which  she  regarded  the  lovers  in  the 
last  hard  moments  of  farewell. 

"You  see  I  abdicate  in  my  rival's  favour,"  said  Max, 
glad  to  relieve  his  pain  by  jesting  with  the  child. 

Una's  pretty  face  lighted  up  with  an  expression  he  had 
never  seen  on  it  before. 

"Oh,  I  will  take  such  care  of  her,"  she  said  fervently, 
as  the  engine  slowly  steamed  out  of  the  station ;  and  the 
words  rang  consolingly  in  Max  Hereford's  ears,  as  he 
glanced  for  the  last  time  at  the  blue  eyes,  and  at  the  lips 
which  smiled  for  his  sake  but  could  not  speak. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

*'  Like  morning,  or  the  early  buds  in  spring, 
Or  voice  of  children  laughing  in  dark  streets, 
Or  that  quick  leap  with  which  the  spirit  greets 
The  old,  revisited  mountains,  —  some  such  thing 
She  seemed  in  her  bright  home.    Joy  and  delight 
And  full-eyed  Innocence  with  folded  wing 
Sat  in  her  face.  .  .  . 

"What  needed  pain  to  purge  a  spirit  so  pure  ? 
Like  fire  it  came,  —  what  less  than  fire  can  be 
The  cleansing  Spirit  of  God  ?  " 

William  Caldwell  Roscoe. 

It  would  have  been  well  for  Max  if  he  had  been  forced 
at  this  time  to  work  for  his  living,  but  unfortunately  there 
was  no  necessity  for  him  to  do  anything.  He  could  not 
even  do  very  much  at  Monkton  Verney.  The  house  was  so 
big  and  desolate  that  he  could  not  face  the  thought  of 
spending  the  autumn  there,  and  it  was  impossible  for  him 
to  entertain  so  soon  after  his  mother's  death.  The  plans 
for  the  new  scheme  about  the  Priory  ruins  lost  their  interest 
now  that  Doreen  was  no  longer  there  to  discuss  tliem,  and 
the  General,  who  disapproved  of  the  idea  with  his  whole 
heart,  threw  every  obstacle  in  the  way.  Ultimately,  it  was 
arranged  that  Monkton  Verney  should  be  let  for  a  year, 
and  Max  took  up  his  quarters  in  the  house  in  Grosvenor 
S(piare,  which  seemed  less  dreary.  Then  began  that  worst 
of  all  stages,  when  people  thought  it  was  time  that  he  forgot 
his  sorrow,  though  in  tmth  it  was  just  beginning  to  over- 
whelm him,  to  cloud  his  mind  with  bitter  questionings,  to 

261  ^ 


262  DOREEN- 

eclipse  his  faith,  and  to  affect  him  physically  in  a  way  which 
not  one  of  his  friends  understood.  The  Herefords  made 
much  of  him.  He  escorted  Miriam  that  winter  to  one  place 
and  another,  proving  himself  just  the  convenient  cavalier 
that  he  had  done  in  the  old  times,  and  dropping  naturally 
into  the  habit  of  going  to  the  house  in  Wilton  Crescent 
every  day ;  but  there  seemed  no  life  in  him.  He  drifted 
aimlessly  on,  waking  each  morning  with  a  resentful  remem- 
brance that  he  was  called  upon  to  live  somehow  through 
another  day,  and  idly  wishing  that  it  were  ended. 

The  only  things  which  stirred  him  a  little  were  Doreeu's 
letters.  They  were  hastily  written  in  the  cars,  with  a  stylo- 
graphic  pen,  and  were  hard  to  read ;  but  nevertheless  they 
were  like  waters  to  a  thirsty  soul,  and  their  graphic,  uncon- 
ventional descriptions  of  the  life  in  the  travelling  company 
for  the  time  stimulated  him  into  a  sort  of  semblance  of 
returning  energy.  Something  of  Doreen's  breezy,  sunshiny, 
open-air  nature  seemed  to  pass  into  him  through  those  love 
letters,  and  generally  after  receiving  one  he  used  to  walk 
round  to  Bernard  Street  and  see  Mrs.  Garth  and  the  chil- 
dren. He  hated  seeing  the  house  without  Doreen,  but  the 
children  refreshed  him,  and  their  delighted  welcome  always 
pleased  him.  They  seemed  to  regard  him  as  one  who 
belonged  to  them.  Yet  children  are  quick  to  discern 
changes,  and  Mollie  and  Dermot  puzzled  their  small  heads 
not  a  little  over  the  change  in  their  future  brother-in-law. 

"  Is  it  losing  his  mother  that  makes  Max  never  seem  to 
care  much  for  things  ? "  asked  Mollie  one  day  at  nursery 
tea. 

"  He  never  seems  to  speak  in  public  now,"  said  Dermot, 
"  and  he  told  Michael  he  was  sick  to  death  of  coffee  taverns 
and  temperance,  and  the  sort  of  things,  you  know,  that  used 
to  be  his  hobbies." 

"  Has  he  given  up  all  his  work  ?  "  asked  Hagar  Muchmore, 
in  her  brisk  voice.  "I  thought  he  looked  kinder  down- 
hearted.    I  guess  he's  taken  offence  with  the  Almighty." 

The  phrase  lingered  in  Bride's  mind.     She  puzzled  much' 


DOREEN-  263 

over  it,  and  on  Snnday  afternoon,  when  Max  happened  to 
find  her  alone  in  the  nursery  with  a  bad  cold,  she  waxed 
confidential  in  the  twilight. 

"The  others  will  be  home  soon,  from  church;  then  we 
shall  have  tea,"  she  said,  climbing  on  to  his  knee  and  beg- 
ging his  ring  to  make  seals  on  her  fat  little  wrist.  "I 
want  to  know,  Max,"  she  added,  after  an  interval,  "  what 
people  do  when  they  take  offence  ?  " 

"  They  don't  come  to  your  house  and  have  tea  with  you," 
said  Max,  smiling ;  "  so,  you  see,  I  have  not  taken  offence 
with  you." 

"  What  else  don't  they  do  ?  "  asked  Bride,  her  inscrutable, 
childlike  eyes  gazing  far  down  into  his. 

"Well,  they  don't  talk  to  you;  they  try  not  to  meet  you." 

"  What  makes  them  take  offence  ?  " 

"  I  suppose,  generally^  they  fancy  that  people  have  treated 
them  unkindly  or  unjustly." 

"But  Doreen  told  me  God  never  could  leave  off  being 
kind  and  good  to  anybody,  and  of  course  I  know  my  own 
self  He  never  could,"  said  the  baby  theologian,  with  a  depth 
of  conviction  in  her  tone  which  might  have  silenced  a 
whole  bench  of  bishops ;  "  and  yet  Hagar  says  she  guesses 
you've  taken  offence  with  the  Almighty." 

Max  started  as  though  some  one  had  stabbed  him ;  then 
the  humour  of  the  words  struck  him,  and  he  laughed. 

"  Mrs.  Muchmore  is  a  very  shrewd  woman,"  he  said.  "  But 
you  are  quite  right,  Bride,  and  Doreen  —  why  of  course 
Doreen  is  right ;  and  now  let  us  have  no  more  theology,  but 
jump  on  my  back,  and  I  will  give  you  a  ride." 

Instantly  the  puzzled  little  face  relaxed  into  the  broadest 
smile  of  content,  and  with  a  vigorous  war-whoop  of  delight, 
Bride  urged  on  her  willing  steed,  who  good-naturedly  leapt 
chairs  and  foot-stools  with  an  energy  which  surprised 
himself. 

"  I  don't  know  what  has  come  to  Max,"  said  Miriam  one 
January  day  as  they  lingered  round  the  breakfast-table ;  "  I 
can't  stir  him  up  at  all.     He  is  as  dull  as  a  dormouse,  and 


264  DOREEN 

does  nothing  all  day  long  but  sit  in  an  armchair  and 
smoke." 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  Lady  Eachel,  with  a  touch  of  bit- 
terness in  her  tone,  "  in  the  old  times  you  used  to  complain 
of  all  his  philanthropic  hobbies ;  you  are  really  rather  diffi- 
cult to  please." 

"  I  want  him  to  be  like  other  men,"  said  Miriam,  impa- 
tiently. "Max  never  can  do  anything  by  halves;  if  he 
works,  he  must  work  like  a  galley-slave;  and  if  he  idles, 
he  must  idle  with  all  his  might." 

"  My  theory  is  that  he  begins  to  realize  the  mistake  he 
has  made,"  said  the  General.  "I  have  once  or  twice  seen 
him  much  moved  by  the  accounts  of  these  dastardly  Irish 
outrages.  Think  what  it  must  be  for  a  man,  brought  up  as 
he  has  been,  to  find  himself  tied  to  a  girl  who  is  hand  and 
glove  with  these  Home-rulers,  —  these  dastardly  outrage- 
mongers  and  moonlighters,  these  cowardly  brutes  who 
torture  cattle,  and  for  whom  hanging  is  too  good." 

"  Doreen  is  the  last  person  to  approve  of  outrages,"  said 
Miriam,  with  the  aggravating  coolness  of  one  not  greatly 
interested  in  the  subject. 

"  Oh,  depend  upon  it  she  does  approve  in  her  heart,  what- 
ever she  may  say,"  replied  the  General,  angrily.  "  I  only 
wish  the  whole  of  Ireland  could  be  dipped  beneath  the 
Atlantic  for  four-and-twenty  hours.  We  need  a  second 
flood  to  exterminate  the  Irish  race;  then,  maybe,  there 
would  be  peace  and  quiet." 

"Well,  papa,"  said  Miriam,  laughing,  "you  are  really 
worse  than  the  moonlighters,  who,  at  any  rate,  don't  go  in 
for  such  sweeping  measures  as  that.  Why,  here  comes  Max ! 
What  can  make  him  so  early  ?  And  he  really  looks  more 
alive  than  he  has  done  for  many  months." 

Even  his  knock  at  the  door  seemed  a  trifle  more  energetic 
than  usual,  and  when  he  entered  the  room,  the  General 
observed  that  the  dull,  listless  look  in  his  eyes  had  utterly 
gone. 

"  I  just  looked  in  to  say  that  I  can't  ride  with  you  to-day 


DOREEN  265 

as  we  arranged,"  he  said,  glancing  at  Miriam.  "I  have 
heard  that  Doreen's  steamer  will  reach  Liverpool  this  after- 
noon, and  I  am  going  to  meet  her." 

"  Tell  her,"  said  Miriam,  mischievously,  "  I  had  just  been 
complaining  that  you  were  as  dull  as  ditch-water,  and  that 
we  all  welcome  her  back  with  delight,  in  the  hope  that  she 
will  make  you  less  of  a  bear." 

"  Have  you  read  this  shocking  account  of  cattle-maiming 
in  Kerry?"  said  the  General,  gloomily,  holding  out  the 
newspaper  to  his  nephew. 

But  Max  evaded  it  with  a  murmured  excuse  that  it  would 
keep  for  the  journey.  As  far  as  possible,  he  avoided  talk- 
ing of  Irish  matters  with  the  General,  partly  because  he 
disliked  quarrelling  with  his  uncle  ;  partly  because,  in  com- 
mon with  many  other  Radicals,  he  was  honestly  jjuzzled 
about  the  whole  Irish  question;  and  partly  from  sheer 
lazy  disinclination  for  the  trouble  discussion  would  have 
involved. 

What  did  it  all  matter  to  him  as  he  travelled  down  to 
Liverpool,  knowing  that  before  long  he  should  once  more 
see  Doreen  ?  The  whole  miserable  wrangle  became  only 
infinitely  tiresome  to  think  about,  and  faded  utterly  from 
his  mind  in  the  passionate  enjoyment  of  his  reunion  with 
the  one  woman  in  the  world  who  had  the  power  of  really 
touching  his  heart. 

Nearly  five  months  had  passed  since  the  lovers  had  parted, 
and  the  time  which  Max  had  spent  in  listless,  idle  existence, 
had  by  Doreen  been  filled  to  the  brim  with  arduous  work ; 
the  tour  had  been  in  every  way  a  success,  and  on  the  whole 
the  party  had  been  a  congenial  one.  There  had  been  occa- 
sional rubs  caused  by  Doreen's  hot  Keltic  temperament,  and 
Madame  St.  Pierre's  somewhat  stiff  and  conventional  theo- 
ries of  life;  but  Ferrier  was  always  a  delightful  man  to 
work  with,  and  he  usually  managed  to  smooth  down  those 
storms  which  will  occasionally  rise  when  seven  people  of 
different  nationalities  and  tastes  travel  together  for  many 
weeks.    Doreen's  sunshiny  brightness  aided  him  not  a  little. 


266  DOREEN 

She  had  always  been  popular  in  the  profession,  and  there 
was  something  about  her  fearless  simplicity,  her  absolute 
purity  of  life,  that  invariably  won  her  respect.  To  Una 
Kingston  her  life  and  character  were  a  sort  of  revelation ; 
to  the  child  who  had  been  dragged  up  anyhow,  forced  from 
her  very  babyhood  to  mix  with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of 
men,  and  tossed  out  at  the  age  of  eleven  to  fight  her  way 
through  public  life  as  best  she  might,  with  only  the  axioms 
of  a  bad  and  unscrupulous  woman  like  her  cousin  to  guide 
her,  the  friendship  of  the  Irish  p?'ima  donna  was  just  salva- 
tion. Unluckily,  however,  the  long  railway  journeys,  and 
the  incessant  round  of  concerts,  told  severely  on  the  child's 
physical  powers,  and  it  went  to  Doreen's  heart  to  see  how 
grievous  a  strain  the  thoughtless  public  were  allowing  her 
to  undergo.  All  she  could  do  was  to  take  the  utmost  care 
of  the  little  violinist,  to  protect  her  from  the  plague  of 
interviewers,  to  make  her  rest  whenever  it  was  practicable, 
and  to  help  her  to  fight  against  those  nervous  terrors  which 
generally  trouble  delicate  children,  blessed  or  cursed  with 
the  artistic  temperament.  Her  own  vivid  remembrance  of 
the  nightly  agonies  she  had  endured  after  any  specially 
exciting  time  during  her  youth  gave  her  the  clue  to  Una's 
air  of  weary  exhaustion  when  she  came  down  to  breakfast ; 
and,  being  convinced  that  the  child  must  be  spared  as  much 
as  possible,  she  took  the  forlorn  little  violinist  into  her  own 
bedroom,  after  which  her  nights  improved  in  a  wonderful 
way,  though  even  with  company  her  terrors  would  sometimes 
overmaster  her,  and  Doreen  would  be  roused  by  a  shivering 
little  white  figure  who,  with  many  apologies,  would  explain 
that  she  really  could  not  endure  the  horrid  feeling  of  sink- 
ing through  the  bed  any  longer,  and  would  Doreen  hold  her 
and  not  let  her  die  ?  At  other  times  it  would  be  a  haunting 
fancy  that  the  room  was  full  of  eyes,  —  eyes  of  every  sort 
and  size,  —  all  staring  their  hardest  at  her;  or,  very  fre- 
quently, a  face  which  she  had  seen  during  the  day  would 
haunt  her  with  an  intolerable  persistence.  Doreen  being 
one  of  those  who  understood^  — ^  beings  moreover,  a  woman 


DOREEN  267 

m  whom  the  motherly  instinct  was  supreme,  —  was  never 
impatient  with  her. 

"  It  makes  me  laugh,"  said  Una  once,  "  to  hear  the  critics 
talk  of  the  beautiful  tenderness  of  your  voice.  What  do 
they  know  about  it  ?  They  have  never  heard  it,  as  I  have 
heard  it,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  in  the  dreadful 
stillness." 

"Indeed,"  said  Doreen,  smiling,  "I  think  most  women 
speak  tenderly  to  a  child  in  the  night.  'Tis  second  nature 
to  them." 

"But  no  one  ever  spoke  so  tenderly  as  you  do,"  said  Una. 
"  No  one  ever  spoke  as  if  I  belonged  to  them." 

It  was  a  good  proof  of  the  advance  the  little  girl  had 
made  during  the  American  tour,  that  she  greeted  Max  with 
cheerful  friendliness.  If  she  felt  any  jealous  pang,  she  kept 
it  to  herself,  discreetly  reading  "  The  Gayworthys  "  all  the 
way  to  London  at  the  far  end  of  the  railway  carriage,  and 
doing  her  best  to  smile  when,  as  they  drew  near  to  the  end 
of  their  journey.  Max  and  Doreen  began  to  talk  to  her,  and 
to  make  plans  as  to  their  next  meeting. 

"  Poor  little  child ! "  said  Doreen,  with  a  sigh,  when  Una, 
and  her  violin,  and  her  maid  had  been  safely  put  into  a 
hansom ;  "  she  is  going  back  to  a  hard  life  and  a  miserable 
home.  It  makes  me  feel  selfish  to  have  so  bright  a  life  in 
contrast." 

"  Life  must  always  be  bright  to  you,  who  go  about  the 
world  cheering  other  people.  But,  oh,  my  dear  Daystar," 
said  Max,  using  one  of  his  favourite  names  for  her,  "  it  has 
been  black  as  pitch  to  me  while  you  have  been  away." 

"  There  shall  be  no  more  American  tours,"  she  said  gaily. 
"  I  feel  like  the  Peri  at  the  gate  of  paradise ;  my  task  is 
nearly  done." 

"And  then,  in  the  summer,"  said  Max,  "we  will  have 
our  wedding  tour  in  Ireland,  and  come  back  to  Monkton 
Verney  in  October,  when  the  present  tenants  have  turned 
out,  and  you  shall  lay  the  first  stone  of  the  new  building." 

"  And  with  it,  lay  the  ghost,"  said  Doreen,  merrily.    "  You 


268  DOREEAT 

will  see  he  will  go  when  '  the  land  is  freed  from  stain/  as  old 
Goody  told  us." 

The  happy  greetings  of  the  children  and  of  Annt  Garth 
were  over,  and  they  were  gathered  round  the  drawing-room 
fire,  lingering  lazily  over  afternoon  tea,  and  all  laughing  and 
talking  together,  as  only  Irish  people  can  talk,  when  the 
servant  announced  "  Mr.  Moore."  With  a  glad  cry  of  "  Donal ! 
Donal's  come!"  the  three  children  launched  themselves 
joyously  upon  the  newcomer,  whose  bush  of  grizzled  hair 
always  struck  one  as  contrasting  so  curiously  with  his 
young  face. 

"I  just  looked  in  to  see  you,"  he  said,  "and  to  welcome 
you  back ;  for  Michael  told  me  you  were  expected ;  and  as 
it's  my  maxim  to  Hake  the  good  the  gods  provide  you' 
while  you  can  get  it,  I  lost  no  time  in  calling." 

"  And  acting  on  the  same  maxim,  you  must  have  tea,  and 
potato  cakes,  and  your  favourite  chair,"  said  Doreen,  gaily. 
"Who  can  tell  when  you  may  not  be  in  prison  again  ?  " 

"  Who  indeed ! "  said  Donal  Moore,  tranquilly,  as  he 
stroked  little  Bride's  round,  rosy  cheek.  "  I  am  going  this 
evening  to  Dublin.  The  Irish  party  will  fight  this  Coercion 
Bill  tooth  and  nail,  but,  for  all  that,  it  is  certain  to  pass, 
and  I  go  back  to  work  while  it  is  possible.  The  night  is 
coming,  when  I  shall  only  be  able  to  chafe  in  prison  at  the 
knowledge  that  our  land  is  given  over  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  the  Chief  Secretary,  and  the  misdirected  zeal  of  those 
who  will  be  maddened  by  his  repression." 

"  They  will  surely  not  imprison  you  ?  "  said  Max,  glanc- 
ing at  the  kindly-faced  Kelt.  He  was  sitting  with  Dermot 
and  little  Bride,  one  on  each  knee,  and  the  firelight  played 
on  his  broad,  intellectual  forehead,  and  lighted  up  his  quiet, 
thoughtful  eyes. 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  how  they  can  do  it  yet,"  he  replied, 
with  a  smile.  "But  when  once  the  Coercion  Bill  is  passed, 
I  fancy  most  of  the  Irish  leaders  will  be  furnished  with  a 
cell,  rent  free,  in  Kilmainham.  You  see,  the  Chief  Secretary 
considers  me  one  of  the  worst  of  ^  those  bloodthirsty  Land 


DOREEN  269 

Leaguers '  who  lead  the  Irish  tenants  astray,  and  poison  the 
love  which  they  naturally  feel  towards  their  landlords." 
His  tone  was  so  full  of  humour,  that  there  was  a  generdl 
laugh.  "It  is  all  very  fine,"  he  continued  gravely;  '^we  are 
amused  now  at  the  fancy  sketch  he  draws,  but  it  will  be  no 
laughing  matter  by  and  bye.  If  he  imprisons  the  leaders 
of  the  Irish  people,  there  will  be  the  devil  to  pay ;  for  the 
leaders  guide  and  restrain;  they  do  their  very  utmost  to 
discourage  violence." 

"  Of  course  one  can  understand,"  said  Doreen,  musingly, 
"that  if  captain  and  crew  are  struck  down,  the  people, 
more  likely  than  not,  will  run  the  good  ship  upon  rocks  or 
quicksands." 

"Just  so,"  replied  Donal  Moore;  "if  the  leaders  are 
imprisoned,  and  open  agitation  against  grievances  be  made 
impossible,  the  secret  societies  which  are  the  curse  of  all 
oppressed  countries  will  inevitably  spring  up  in  a  night, 
like  mushrooms." 

Max  felt  stimulated  by  the  Irishman's  words,  by  the 
entire  sincerity  of  his  manner,  by  the  quiet  conviction  of 
his  tone.  This  man  was  no  noisy  demagogue,  no  self- 
seeking  agitator,  but  a  patriot,  with  the  courage  and  devo- 
tion which  Englishmen  so  greatly  admired  in  Garibaldi. 

"And  what  is  the  truth  of  this  new  cattle-maiming 
story?"  he  asked,  with  a  remembrance  of  General  Here- 
ford's gloomy  face  over  that  morning's  paper. 

"  It  is  correctly  reported,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Donal 
Moore.  "It  was  a  dastardly  outrage,  and  one  which  we 
all  strongly  condemn.  But  turn  for  a  moment  from  a  har- 
rowing and  detailed  newspaper  description  to  dry  statistics, 
and  let  us  see  if  the  English  are  justified  in  the  outcry 
made,  or  the  abusive  words  used  as  to  Irish  barbarity.  Dur- 
ing ten  months  in  Ireland — ten  troubled  months — there  were 
forty-seven  cases  of  killing  and  maiming  cattle.  Whereas, 
during  twelve  months  in  England  there  were  three  thou- 
sand five  hundred  and  thirty-three  convictions  for  cruelty 
to  animals.    We  don't  dub  you  fiends,  or  propose  to  destroy 


270  DOREEN 

the  liberties  of  a  nation  because  a  certain  percentage  of 
Englishmen  are  blackguards.  There  has  been  enormous 
exaggeration  of  the  outrages  in  Ireland,  and  that  was 
clearly  proved  by  one  of  your  own  countrymen  the  other 
night  in  the  House." 

"  There  are  a  few  Englishmen,  then,  who  will  stand  by 
us?"  asked  Doreen.  "I  have,  of  course,  missed  the  papers 
for  some  days." 

"A  few  Radicals,"  said  Donal  Moore;  "but  you  may  count 
them  on  the  fingers  of  one  hand." 

"  Donovan  Farrant  is  among  them,"  said  Max.  "  He  is 
the  sort  of  man  who  is  not  likely  to  be  swept  away  with 
the  general  wave  of  indignation  which  has  passed  over  the 
country.  Maybe  the  slight  strain  of  Irish  blood  in  him 
gives  him  the  power  to  understand  you  better  than  others." 

"You  are  thoroughly  English,  and  yet  you  have  the 
power,"  said  Doreen,  with  a  glance  of  loving  confidence. 
But  Max  shook  his  head. 

"  No ;  I  am  more  and  more  convinced  every  day  that  my 
sole  hope  of  understanding  the  Irish  problem  is  through 
you.  While  you  have  been  away  I  have  been  altogether 
out  of  touch  with  the  subject.  It  is  a  good  thing,  after  all, 
that  I  lost  that  election,  or  you  might  have  lived  to  see  me 
voting  for  the  Coercion  Bill." 

"Oh  no,  no!"  protested  Doreen;  "I  think  you  would 
surely  have  taken  the  line  Mr.  Farrant  has  taken." 

"  And  lost  my  seat  at  the  next  election  in  consequence." 

"  Perhaps ;  but  that  would  have  been  glorious,  and  you 
would  have  been  secure  of  a  seat  in  Ireland." 

"  Be  very  sure  of  this,  Mr.  Hereford,"  said  Donal  Moore, 
gravely,  "  the  more  repressive  the  Chief  Secretary  becomes, 
the  more  stubborn  will  be  the  resistance  made  by  the  Irish. 
Already  he  has  interfered  with  the  right  of  public  meeting. 
The  new  year  began  ominously  with  the  forcible  dispersion 
of  a  meeting  by  one  of  his  emissaries,  who,  not  content 
with  a  huge  body  of  police  with  fixed  bayonets,  threatened 
to  have  the  people  shot  down.    Now,  I  ask  you  candidly. 


DOREEN  271 

would  Englishmen  endure  this  even  from  their  fellow- 
countrymen  ?  Of  course  they  would  not  endure  it  for  a 
moment.  Yet  you  expect  us  to  put  up  with  this  sort  of 
thing  from  people  of  an  entirely  different  race,  who  under- 
stand us  as  little  as  the  Russians  understand  the  Poles." 

At  this  moment  MoUie's  coaxing  little  voice  intervened. 
"  Donal,  dear,"  she  said,  "  your  head  is  so  hot  that  I  really 
think  your  feet  must  be  cold.  Bride's  and  mine  are  just 
dreadfully  cold.  Do  let  us  dance  and  get  warm.  You 
know  we  always  do  every  night.  Sunday's  the  only  night 
when  we  have  to  go  to  bed  with  cold  feet." 

Doreen,  with  a  merry  laugh  at  this  practical  interruption, 
went  to  the  piano.  The  furniture  was  pushed  aside,  and  soon, 
to  the  inspiriting  strains  of  '^  Garry  Owen,"  the  children  were 
dancing  to  their  heart's  content ;  Mollie  claiming  the  patriot 
for  her  partner,  and  whirling  round  and  round  on  her  tallest 
tiptoe  with  fairylike  lightness,  while  Dermot  lumbered 
good-naturedly  in  their  wake,  dragging  the  far  more  solidly 
built  Bride  in  a  somewhat  laboured,  straight  galop.  Max, 
comfortably  installed  in  the  shady  nook  close  to  the  piano, 
watched  the  scene  with  amusement,  and  Aunt  Garth,  as  she 
sat  by  the  fire  with  her  knitting,  noticed  with  satisfaction 
that  the  clouded  look  his  face  had  borne  for  so  many  months 
vanished  entirely  when  he  glanced  from  the  children  to 
Doreen's  happy,  smiling  lips  and  radiant  eyes.  Presently, 
when  the  dancers  were  tired,  Doreen  sang  to  them,  and  the 
sweet  air  of  "-Kathleen  Mavourneen"  lured  Uncle  Garth 
from  the  deciphering  of  mummy  curl-papers  in  the  study, 
and  brought  Michael  upstairs,  three  steps  at  a  time,  on  his 
return  from  Bermondsey;  and  to  please  the  one  she  sang 
"  Hope,  the  Hermit,"  and  to  please  the  other,  "  Savourneen 
Deelish."  Finally,  the  children  clamoured  for  "  God  save 
Ireland,"  and  joined  with  such  vigour  in  the  chorus  that 
Uncle  Garth  stole  back  to  his  congenial  work,  leaving  the 
kindred  spirits  to  enjoy  to  the  utmost  Doreen's  wonderfid 
rendering  of  the  national  song. 

At  last  Donal  Moore  was  obliged  to  take  leave. 


272  DOREEN    • 

"  If  I  am  to  dine  with  Flannery,  and  to  catch  the  night 
mail  at  Euston,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  must  tear  myself  away 
from  this  paradise." 

"And  I  am  afraid  you  will  have  a  rough  time/'  said 
Doreen.     "  The  sea  was  anything  but  pleasant." 

"  If  Irishmen  had  only  rough  seas  to  grumble  about,  they 
would  not  be  so  badly  off,"  said  Donal  Moore,  laughing. 
"  It's  the  rough  times  on  the  land  that  we  find  hard  to  take 
philosophically." 

He  knew  that  he  was  little  likely  to  see  his  wards  again 
for  some  time  to  come,  and  there  was  a  wistfulness  in  his 
face  which  did  not  escape  Max  Hereford's  notice ;  yet  he 
responded  brightly  enough  to  the  children's  fervent  fare- 
wells, and  stood  chatting  till  the  last  available  moment  with 
Doreen,  receiving  her  messages  to  his  wife,  and  determined 
to  cast  no  shadow  of  a  cloud  on  this  happy  evening  of  her 
return. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"  Certain  classes  of  persons  in  England  have  always  maintained  that 
successive  Irish  leaders  and  patriots  were  mere  mischief-makers,  the 
cause,  and  not  the  exponents,  of  the  prevailing  discontent.  If  their 
mouths  could  be  stopped,  they  imagined  there  would  be  no  more  dis- 
affection in  Ireland,  or  such  as  would  be  easily  repressed.  This  was 
their  manner  of  judging  of  Flood,  of  Grattan,  of  Curran,  of  O'Connell. 
They  could  not  learn,  and  are  as  far  from  learning  to-day  as  ever, 
that  you  cannot  heal  the  broken  heart  of  Ireland  by  gagging  those 
whom  she  sends  over  here  to  plead  for  her.  They  were  relieved  when 
the  prison  doors  closed  upon  one  after  another  of  Ireland's  patriotic 
but  unhappy  sons."  —  Josephine  E.  Butler. 

The  shadow  came  all  too  quickly.  The  happy  return 
to  those  she  loved  was  sadly  marred  for  Doreen  by  the 
events  of  the  next  few  days.  The  public  excitement  over 
the  Irish  question  rose  to  fever  heat,  and  unable  entirely 
to  approve  of  the  methods  of  her  own  party,  yet  wholly 
sympathizing  with  their  strenuous  resistance,  she  found  life 
far  from  easy.  When,  on  the  third  evening  after  Donal 
Moore's  departure.  Max  again  found  himself  in  the  familiar 
drawing-room  at  Bernard  Street,  about  six  o'clock,  he  found 
her  looking  pale  and  harassed.  He  himself  seemed  agitated ; 
and  if  Doreen  had  not  been  preoccupied,  she  would  have 
noticed  the  anxious  air  with  which  he  scanned  her  face  as 
though  to  read  there  how  much  she  knew. 

"  You  are  tired,  my  darling,"  he  said.  "  I  hear  you  had 
a  grand  reception  at  the  Ballad  concert  last  night.  Why, 
what  invalid  have  you  got  on  the  sofa  ?     Dermot  ?  " 

The  boy  sprang  up  and  began  to  swathe  himself  in  a 
plaid. 

273  T 


274  DOREEN' 

"  It's  nothing  but  a  cold,"  he  said,  pausing  for  a  frightful 
fit  of  coughing,  from  which  he  emerged  breathless,  but  still 
smiling  with  his  habitual  quiet  good-humour.  ''I  think 
I'll  go  up  to  Mollie ;  for  three's  trumpery,  you  know." 

"  Well,  keep  the  plaid  over  your  mouth  on  the  stairs," 
said  Doreen,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  wish  we  had  the  American 
system  of  warming  houses  throughout." 

^'  Has  he  had  one  of  his  bad  turns  ?  "  asked  Max. 

"  Yes,  we  had  a  dreadful  night  with  him.  Brian  Osmond 
overhauled  him  thoroughly  this  morning,  and  his  report 
was  anything  but  cheering.  All  the  three  younger  ones 
are  delicate,  but  Dermot  has  come  off  the  worst.  He  was  the 
first  one  born  after  my  father  came  out  of  penal  servitude, 
you  see.  They  say  there  is  no  actual  disease,  only  a  con- 
sumptive tendency;  but  I  can  see  that  Brian  Osmond 
thinks  it  doubtful  whether  he  will  grow  up.  He  is  a  man 
of  very  few  words,  but  there  was  such  a  kind  look  in  his 
face  as  he  said  to  me,  ^  You  must  reckon  him  among  Ire- 
land's unknown  patriots.' " 

"Poor  little  fellow!"  said  Max,  with  a  sigh.  "Yet  I 
remember  my  mother  always  spoke  hopefully  about  him, 
and  said  she  had  known  far  more  delicate  children  who 
yet  struggled  through.  Have  you  any  engagement  this 
evening  ?  " 

"  Yes,  unluckily,"  she  replied.  "  It  is  that  long-talked-of 
performance  of  ^St.  Paul'  given  in  aid  of  poor  Ciseri's 
widow  and  children.  The  tickets  have  gone  like  wildfire  ; 
for  Carlo  Donati  is  coming  over  on  purpose  to  sing,  and 
everyone  is  curious  to  hear  him,  particularly  as  it  will  be 
his  first  appearance  in  oratorio." 

Max  seemed  to  consider  for  a  moment ;  she  noticed  his 
lack  of  response,  and  glancing  into  his  face  read  there  a 
trouble  and  hesitation  which  alarmed  her. 

"  Max ! "  she  cried.  "  Something  has  gone  wrong  ?  Oh, 
tell  me  quickly  ! " 

He  put  his  arm  round  her  tenderly,  but  no  longer  at- 
tempted to  delay  the  evil  tidings  he  had  brought. 


DOREEISr  27$ 

"Donal  Moore  was  arrested  to-day  in  Dublin,"  he  said 
gravely. 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Doreen  seemed  like  one 
stunned.  When  at  length  she  spoke,  her  voice  had  a 
strange  tone  in  it. 

"  How  can  he  be  arrested  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  bewildered 
look  J  "  the  Coercion  Bill  is  not  yet  passed.  Surely  there  is 
some  mistake.  It  is  just  a  false  report.  The  street  boys 
will  call  out  anything  to  sell  their  papers." 

"  Dearest,  there  is  no  mistake,"  he  said.  "  Would  to  God 
there  were !  I  was  with  Donovan  Farrant  this  afternoon, 
and  he  had  heard  a  rumour  of  the  arrest.  He  took  me 
down  to  the  House  with  him,  and  at  question  time  the 
truth  transpired.  They  said  that  his  conduct  was  not  in 
accordance  with  the  conditions  of  his  ticket  of  leave,  and 
that  he  was  remitted  to  penal  servitude  again." 

As  he  spoke  those  last  words,  Doreen's  bewildered  ex- 
pression changed ;  a  look  of  horror  and  indignation  swept 
across  her  face.  Then,  with  an  impulsive  gesture,  she  tore 
herself  away  from  him,  and,  with  her  face  buried  in  the 
sofa  cushions,  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

Max,  who  had  heard  the  exultant  cheers  of  his  own 
countrymen  as  he  waited  in  the  lobby,  and  had  learnt  from 
Donovan  Farrant  that  their  jubilation  was  caused  by  the 
news  of  this  same  arrest,  felt  each  of  these  sobs  like 
a  sword  thrust.  As  he  recalled  Donal  Moore's  kindly 
face  and  the  merry  scene  with  the  children  in  that  very 
room  only  a  few  evenings  ago,  he  fully  understood  Doreen's 
indignant  grief;  nor  did  even  a  thought  of  jealousy  cross 
his  mind.  Only  twice  before  had  he  seen  her  utterly 
broken  down,  and  the  remembrance  of  those  former  times 
stirred  him  now  strangely,  bringing  back  the  surroundings 
of  the  scene,  the  wooded  banks  of  Glendalough,  and  the 
round  tower  away  in  the  distance  on  the  day  after  his 
mother's  death ;  and  that  long-past  time  in  the  grotto  at 
.Castle  Karey,  when  the  horror  of  the  secret  which  she  had 
sworn  to  keep  had  pressed  so  sorely  on  the  child's  mind. 

t2 


276  DOREEN 

There  was  no  one  now  for  whose  sake  she  must  make  an 
effort  to  control  herself,  but  a  remembrance  of  her  work 
came  to  help  her. 

"  What  is  th.e  time  ?  "  she  asked,  choking  back  her  sobs 
resolutely,  and  drying  her  eyes. 

"  It  is  just  seven,"  he  said. 

"  And  in  an  hour  I  must  be  in  the  Albert  Hall  before  an 
audience  of  eight  thousand  people,"  she  exclaimed.  "  There 
is  no  time  for  tears  nowadays." 

"  But  time  for  love,"  he  said,  drawing  her  towards  him 
once  more,  and  raining  kisses  on  her  face. 

"  Yes ;  oh,  thank  God ! "  she  said.  "  Love  is  among  the 
timeless,  eternal  things,  —  else  how  could  one  bear  to  think 
now  of  Donal's  wife  and  child?  Seven  o'clock,  did  you 
say  ?  He  will  just  be  leaving  Dublin,  no  doubt,  —  coming 
back  to  the  life  that  killed  my  father.  Oh,  Max !  when  will 
you  English  understand  us  ?  " 

"  Not  until  we  are  strictly  just,  I  fancy,"  said  Max,  mus- 
ingly; "and  have  made  amends  for  what  Lecky  calls  'a 
crime  of  the  deepest  turpitude,'  —  the  robbing  Ireland  of 
her  parliament  at  the  beginning  of  the  century." 

It  was  arranged  that  Max  should  dine  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Garth;  and  Doreen  having  hastily  dressed,  settled  her 
invalid  in  bed  and  left  him  in  charge  of  Mrs.  Muchmore, 
setting  out  for  Kensington  under  her  lover's  escort,  and 
with  Michael  to  play  propriety.  The  boy  could  talk  of 
nothing  but  the  great  news  of  the  evening,  and  was  still 
vehemently  discussing  the  all-absorbing  topic  when  they 
entered  the  Albert  Hall,  and  made  their  way  to  the  regions 
at  the  back  of  the  orchestra,  where  Doreen  was  greeted  by 
Madame  St.  Pierre. 

"  Come  ! "  exclaimed  the  great  lady,  in  the  tone  of  gentle 
raillery  with  which  she  was  wont  to  touch  on  Doreen's 
views ;  "  Melville  will  be  quite  relieved ;  we  were  afraid 
this  Irish  coup  W^tat  would  perhaps  hinder  your  coming ; 
I  thought  you  would  be  quite  broken  down." 

"Irish  people  are  not  so  easily  crushed,"  said  Doreen, 


DOREEN-  i^^ 

with  a  proud  smile.  There  was,  nevertheless,  a  slight  quiver 
of  her  lip  which  did  not  escape  the  notice  of  one  of  the 
bystanders,  —  a  slightly  built  Italian,  whose  dark  liquid 
eyes  had  a  way  of  observing  those  about  him  with  a  sym- 
pathy which  gave  him  extraordinary  insight,  and  a  quiet- 
ness which  never  allowed  people  to  feel  that  they  were 
being  observed.  He  turned  a  little  aside  now  with  a  ques- 
tion to  the  tenor  Sardoni,  a  singer  who  after  quitting  the 
operatic  stage  had,  during  the  autumn  and  winter,  sprung 
into  sudden  popularity  as  a  concert  singer  and  composer  of 
ballads. 

^*  I  want  you  to  introduce  me  to  the  Irish  prima  donnaj 
Jack,"  he  said  in  Italian.  "  And  by  the  bye,  who  is  that 
Englishman  who  came  in  with  her  ?  I  never  saw  a  face  so 
full  of  possibilities." 

"  That,"  replied  Sardoni,  "  is  her  Jianc4.  Handsome  fel- 
low, isn't  he  ?  They  say  he  is  a  rattling  good  speaker  j 
but  he  was  thrashed  at  the  last  election,  and  since  then  has 
done  nothing  but  loaf  about.  Miss  O'Eyan,"  he  added, 
approaching  her,  ^'my  friend,  Signor  Donati,  wishes  to  have 
the  honour  of  an  introduction  to  you.  I  have  been  telling 
him  how  much  you  did  to  prepare  the  way  for  me  in  Eng- 
land by  singing  that  song  about  the  eviction." 

"  He  will  not  soon  equal  the  pathos  of  that  song,  to  my 
mind,"  said  Donati. 

"  And  yet,  so  bitter  is  the  feeling  just  now  in  England," 
said  Doreen,  "  that  when  last  night  I  sang  it  as  an  encore 
at  the  Ballad  concert,  I  heard  one  or  two  hisses,  which  from 
a  kindly  and  particularly  appreciative  audience  showed 
plainly  enough  which  way  the  wind  blows." 

''  It  must  be  a  sad  time  for  you  to  return  to  England,"  said 
Donati,  thoughtfully.  "And  it  is  strange  that  you  and  I 
should  meet  on  this  night.  There  is  a  link  between  us, 
I  believe,  for  our  fathers  both  laid  down  their  lives  in  an 
apparently  useless  struggle  for  entire  national  libei-ty." 

"  Was  your  father  a  political*  prisoner  ?  "  asked  Doreen, 
eagerly.     "  Mine  fell  a  victim  to  five  years  of  penal  servi- 


27^  DORKEN- 

tude,  thougli  he  was  spared  to  us  for  a  while  after  his 
release." 

"  And  mine,"  said  Donati,  "  died  a  few  weeks  after  Aspro- 
monte,  from  a  wound  which  he  received  there.  It  is  very 
strange  to  me  that  the  English,  who  sympathized  so  strongly 
with  the  Italian  struggle  years  ago,  should  be  so  extraordi- 
narily slow  to  understand  the  aspirations  of  the  Irish." 

"  Oh,"  said  Doreen,  bitterly,  "  they  are  ready  enough  to 
see  the  mote  in  their  brother's  eye,  but  they  conveniently 
ignore  the  beam  in  their  own  until  self-interest  and  discom- 
fort force  them  to  remove  it." 

"  I  can  understand  that  you  must  feel  angry  and  indig- 
nant," said  Donati;  "yet  I  venture  to  think  that  speech  a 
little  harsh.  I  love  England  and  the  English.  They  may 
be  slow  to  see  an  unpalatable  truth,  but  when  once  they  do 
see  it,  you  may  trust  them  to  do  the  right,  cost  what  it  may." 

"I  think  that  is  true,"  said  Doreen,  thoughtfully;  "yet 
sometimes  their  slowness  is  almost  maddening,  their  obtuse- 
ness  and  want  of  imaginative  power  really  extraordinary. 
But  after  all,  sweeping  phrases  about  a  whole  nation  are 
very  unfair,  and  come  with  an  ill  grace  from  one  who  is  to 
marry  the  best  Englishman  in  the  land.  May  I  introduce 
Mr.  Hereford  to  you  ?  " 

The  three  stood  talking  together  for  some  few  minutes, 
while  through  the  swing  door  close  at  hand  there  floated  the 
wild  medley  of  sounds  from  the  orchestra  in  the  process  of 
tuning  up,  and  the  subdued  hum  of  conversation  from  the 
vast  assembly.  Doreen  liked  Donati  all  the  more  when, 
glancing  from  one  face  to  the  other,  she  observed  the 
curious  similarity  of  feature  which  would  have  made  his 
likeness  to  Max  remarkable  had  not  the  colouring  been  so 
utterly  different.  The  Italian  was  a  typical  Italian,  small, 
slightly  made,  extraordinarily  graceful ;  but  spite  of  certain 
tokens  that  he  had  passed  through  no  easy  apprenticeship, 
his  face,  with  its  rich,  warm  Southern  colouring,  was  singu- 
larly happy  in  expression.  He  gave  one  the  impression  of 
a  man  who  had  fought  and  had  conquered.     The  English- 


DOREEI^  i^g 

man,  taller  and  more  muscular,  with  square  shoulders  and 
fair  Northern  colouring,  had  features  cast  in  the  same 
mould,  but  his  clear,  light  hazel  eyes,  though  frank  and  true 
as  ever,  had  in  their  depths  something  of  disappointment 
and  perplexity,  of  pain  not  rightly  understood.  He  bore  the 
expression  of  one  who  had  not  fought  very  energetically, — 
one  who  was  now  watching  the  battle  from  afar,  loath  to 
turn  his  back  upon  it  altogether,  yet  with  none  of  the  zeal 
which  will  carry  men  to  death  or  victory.  It  was,  however, 
as  Donati  had  been  quick  to  observe,  a  face  full  of  noble 
possibilities.  The  talk  naturally  turned  upon  Donal  Moore, 
—  his  was  the  name  upon  all  lips  that  night,  —  and  Donati 
listened  with  interest  to  what  Doreen  told  him  of  the  Irish- 
man's story.  All  too  soon  came  the  summons  to  go  into 
the  concert  hall,  and  Doreen  was  led  forward  by  Sardoni. 

"I  wish  I  could  turn  myself  into  a  bona  fide  Italian,"  he 
said,  "just  for  to-night.  I  am  sure  you  are  vowing  ven- 
geance on  all  of  us  Englishmen." 

She  laughingly  protested  against  such  a  notion. 

"  If  you  only  knew  how  grateful  I  am  to  you  for  saving 
me  from  having  to  sit  next  Madame  St.  Pierre,"  said 
Sardoni,  with  a  wicked  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "  That  worthy 
woman  takes  all  the  starch  out  of  me.  There's  something 
really  awful  in  the  feeling  when  she  fixes  you  with  her  cold 
gray  eye." 

"  If  you  tried  with  all  your  might  for  a  year,  you  would 
never  make  Madame  St.  Pierre  see  a  joke,"  said  Doreen, 
smiling ;  "  but  she  is  really  kind  hearted,  though  she  cer- 
tainly can  administer  snubs  with  deadly  effect." 

Sardoni,  glancing  to  the  other  side  of  the  conductor's 
desk,  shook  with  suppressed  merriment. 

"  Good  heavens  ! "  he  said,  under  cover  of  the  tumultuous 
applause;  "'tis  a  sight  to  make  the  angels  laugh.  She  is 
patronizing  Donati  in  the  most  exquisite  way,  and  he  hangs 
upon  her  words  as  deferentially  as  if  he  were  a  raw  novice." 

"Well,  so  he  is  in  oratorio  singing,"  said  Doreen;  "and 
Madame   St.  Pierre   has   had  enormous  experience.     Per- 


28o  DOREEN- 

haps,  after  all,  he  may  fail  to  please  as  much  as  he  does  in 
opera." 

"  You  have  never  yet  heard  him  sing  ?  "  asked  Sardoni. 
''Ah,  then  you  just  wait";  he  rubbed  his  hands  with  satis- 
faction ;  "  you'll  think  yourself  in  heaven  presently." 

"  Very  well,  so  much  the  better,"  she  replied,  with  a  smile 
and  a  slight  gesture  of  the  shoulders;  "  at  present  I  am  very 
conscious  of  being  in  hostile  England,  with  many  of  my 
countrymen  in  disgrace,  and  with  the  best  of  them  a 
prisoner." 

The  overture  now  began,  and  Doreen's  sad  heart  took 
comfort;  for  Mendelssohn's  music  always  had  on  her  some- 
thing of  the  same  effect  as  the  Psalms,  appealing  to  what- 
ever mood  she  happened  to  be  in.  In  the  first  of  the  noble 
old  chorales  she  joined  heart  and  soul,  not  as  she  sometimes 
did  for  the  sake  of  trying  her  voice,  but  because  her  whole 
being  seemed  to  respond  to  both  words  and  music,  — 

*'  To  God  on  high  be  thanks  and  praise, 

Who  deigns  our  bonds  to  sever ; 
His  cares  our  drooping  souls  upraise, 

And  harm  shall  reach  us  never. 
On  him  we  rest  with  faith  assured, 
Of  all  that  live,  the  mighty  Lord, 

For  ever  and  for  ever." 

When,  later  on,  her  voice  rang  through  the  great  hall  in 
the  most  pathetic  of  all  songs,  "  Jerusalem  !  thou  that  killest 
the  prophets,"  Max  realized  that  something  was  giving  her 
power  to  sing  as  she  had  never  sung  before.  Was  pain  a 
necessary  part  of  an  artist's  training  ?  Could  it  be  that  the 
arrest  of  Donal  Moore  at  Dublin  in  the  nineteenth  century 
would,  through  the  instrumentality  of  a  singer,  give  all  these 
thousands  of  people  a  clearer  insight  into  the  mystery  of 
pain,  the  true  spirit  of  martyrdom,  the  hatefulness  of  per- 
secution ? 

Donati's  first  solo  was  perhaps  a  disappointment  to  every- 
one J  it  did  not  suit  him,  and  though  magnificently  declaimed, 


DOREEISr  281 

it  failed  to  touch  the  audience.  Not  until  his  second  great 
aria,  "  Oh  God,  have  mercy,"  did  people  at  all  realize  that 
a  new  exponent  of  sacred  music  had  arisen  who  eclipsed 
all  others  of  his  generation.  To  Doreen  it  was  like  living 
through  some  great  spiritual  experience.  Sardoni's  playful 
words,  "  You  will  think  you  are  in  heaven,"  seemed  to  her 
no  exaggeration ;  all  the  aspirations  of  her  life  seemed  to 
be  summed  up  in  his  wonderful  rendering  of  the  climax  of 
the  song,  *'  Then  open  Thou  my  lips,  0  Lord !  and  my  mouth 
shall  show  forth  Thy  glorious  praise." 

It  was  not,  perhaps,  of  Saul  of  Tarsus  that  she  thought  as, 
immediately  after,  she  stood  up  to  sing  her  brief  recitative, 
the  message  to  Ananias ;  and  there  was  a  ring  of  joyfulness 
and  triumph  in  her  tone,  which  strangely  stirred  the  hearts 
of  all  present,  when  later  on  she  sang,  "Straightway  he 
preached  Jesus  in  the  synagogues  and  said,  '  I  thank  God, 
who  hath  made  me  free  through  Christ.' " 

In  the  interval  between  the  parts,  as  she  sat  in  the  pas- 
sage at  the  back  of  the  orchestra,  with  Max  and  Michael 
beside  her,  discussing  the  performance,  Donati  again  joined 
them.  He  had  been  much  struck  by  Doreen's  singing,  and 
he  knew  now,  what  he  had  instinctively  felt  at  first  sight  of 
her,  that  between  them  there  existed  links  far  closer  than 
that  similarity  of  which  he  had  spoken  in  the  life  story  of 
their  fathers. 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  favour,"  he  said.  "  My  wife  and 
I  hope  to  be  in  London  early  in  April  for  four  months ;  we 
have  just  taken  a  small  house  in  Avenue  Road,  and  if  you 
would  be  so  kind  as  to  call  on  us,  should  you  ever  have  time 
in  your  busy  life,  it  will  give  us  great  pleasure." 

"  I  have  heard  much  of  you  from  Signor  Marioni,"  said 
Doreen,  smiling ;  "  so  much,  that  you  seem  almost  like  an 
old  friend  to  me.  You  know  after  the  break  up  of  Mer- 
lino's  company,  Marioni  went  out  to  the  States  with  us  as 
pianist.  I  am  afraid  he  didn't  much  like  it ;  he  was  always 
sighing  for  his  orchestra  again.  And  the  dreadful  same- 
ness of  the  concerts  drove  him  almost  distracted." 


282  DOREEISr 

"But  he  always  was  distracted,"  said  Donati,  smiling; 
"  he  grumbled  just  as  much  in  the  old  times.  He  is  one  of 
those  who  cannot  patiently  bear  the  restrictions  and  limita- 
tions of  life  down  here." 

"He  has  many  to  keep  him  company  in  that,"  said 
Doreen,  with  a  sigh.  "Are  we  meant  to  endure  them 
patiently  ?  " 

"  We  don't  gain  anything  by  knocking  our  heads  against 
a  stone  wall,"  said  Donati,  smiling.  "  Isn't  it  Euskin  who 
says  that  the  limitations  of  life  are  the  guidance  of  choice  ?  " 

At  this  moment  he  was  interrupted  by  a  touch  on  his 
shoulder.  "  Val,"  said  Sardoni,  "  if  you  love  me,  come  here. 
I  have  put  my  foot  into  it  awfully  with  the  St.  Pierre s, 
and  they  will  certainly  be  uncivil  to  Domenica  next  time 
they  meet  her,  unless  you  patch  up  the  quarrel  for  us." 

"  The  limitations  of  time  are  the  hardest  of  all  to  put  up 
with,"  said  Carlo,  glancing  at  Doreen  with  a  smile  as  he 
turned  away. 

Max,  strongly  drawn  to  the  Italian,  though  hardly  able 
to  explain  wherein  his  great  fascination  lay,  followed  him 
with  his  eyes,  and  watched  with  keen  interest  the  little 
drama  that  was  enacted,  by  the  swing  door.  Slowly  and 
gradually  he  saw  Madame  St.  Pierre  change  from  haughty 
gravity  to  gracious  interest,  and,  at  length,  wonderful  to 
relate,  both  she  and  her  husband  laughed,  Sardoni  joined  in, 
and  the  most  amicable  relations  were  apparently  established 
between  them. 

"  I  wonder  how  he  did  it,"  said  Doreen,  in  a  low  voice ; 
"a  genuine  laugh  in  that  quarter  is  as  rare  as  snow  in 
June.  If  I  get  through  ^  I  will  sing  of  Thy  great  mercies ' 
to-night  with  the  right  spirit,  it  will  all  be  owing  to  Signor 
Donati." 

Max  thought  of  the  words  later  on,  when,  having  gone 
with  Michael  to  a  distant  seat  in  the  great  building,  he 
watched  the  slim,  white-robed  figure  rise  after  the  chorus, 
"  How  lovely  are  the  messengers,"  and  with  the  few  bars 
of  recitative  as  introduction  break  forth  into  the  song  of 


DOREEN  283 

thanksgiving,  which,  in  its  devotion  and  simplicity,  is,  per- 
haps, the  most  beautiful  in  the  whole  oratorio.  That  song, 
and  the  pathos  of  Donati's  last  solo,  "  I  am  ready  not  only 
to  be  bound,  but  also  to  die,"  lingered  with  him  for  the 
rest  of  the  night,  haunting  him  strangely,  when,  having  left 
Doreen  and  Michael  in  Bernard  Street,  he  wandered  south- 
ward, with  no  very  settled  purpose,  but  utterly  disinclined 
to  go  home.  Strolling  by  and  bye  into  his  club,  he  there 
learnt  that  great  things  had  been  happening  in  the  House 
of  Commons  while  he  had  been  listening  to  "St.  Paul"; 
and  the  news  disquieted  him  so  much  that  he  promptly 
made  his  way  to  Westminster,  and  there,  from  the  member 
for  Greyshot,  heard  a  full  account  of  all  that  had  passed. 
The  two  paced  home  together  to  Donovan  Tarrant's  house 
in  Connaught  Square,  talking  long  over  the  crisis  which  bad 
arisen ;  and  when  he  had  parted  with  his  companion.  Max 
felt  less  inclination  than  ever  for  sleep.  In  the  dead  quiet, 
which  falls  upon  London  between  four  and  six  in  the  morn- 
ing, he  tramped  restlessly  about  the  deserted  squares  and 
streets  of  Bloomsbury,  more  shaken  out  of  his  dreamy 
indifference  than  he  had  been  for  months  past,  more 
troubled  than  he  had  been  all  his  life  long  over  the  griefs 
and  wrongs  of  others.  Many  times  he  passed  the  silent, 
dark,  somewhat  grim-looking  house  in  Bernard  Street,  and, 
looking  up  to  the  top  windows,  knew  that  the  faint  light 
he  could  just  discern  came  from  the  little  hanging  lamp 
beneath  the  crucifix  which  he  had  given  to  Doreen  in  her 
childhood.  He  was  glad  to  know  that,  as  yet,  she  was 
unconscious  of  the  fresh  troubles  that  had  fallen  upon 
Ireland;  glad  to  believe  that  after  her  arduous  work  she 
slept  as  tranquilly  as  little  Mollie,  and  that  her  face  still 
retained  that  serene  look  of  peace  and  happiness  which  it 
had  borne  as  she  sang  her  great  solo. 

Wandering  on,  lost  in  thought,  he  presently  found  him- 
self in  Oxford  Street.  De  Quincey's  "  Stony-hearted  Step- 
mother "  seemed  well-nigh  deserted.  It  was  now  nearly  six, 
but  the  February  morning  was  still  dark;  the  stars  shone 


284  DOREEN 

clearly  in  the  frosty  atmosphere.  He  paused  for  a  minute 
before  turning  down  James  Street,  and  was  surprised  to 
hear  in  the  distance  the  sound  of  an  approaching  cavalcade. 
"  Surely  they  do  not  make  any  unlucky  soldiers  take  exer- 
cise at  this  hour  in  the  winter ! "  he  thought  to  himself.  But 
as  the  horsemen  drew  near  he  saw  that  they  were  mounted 
police,  and  instantly  it  flashed  into  his  mind  that  Donal 
Moore  had  been  brought  over  from  Ireland  by  the  night 
mail.  Straining  his  eyes  in  the  dim  lamplight  he  was  just 
able  to  discern,  for  a  moment,  the  well-known  features  of 
the  Irishman,  as  the  cab,  surrounded  by  the  mounted  police, 
passed  swiftly  by.  The  prisoner  was  looking  pale  and  worn, 
and  there  were  signs  of  exhaustion  about  the  strong,  patient 
face,  which  at  all  times  was  stamped  too  visibly  with  the 
marks  of  the  previous  term  of  penal  servitude. 

Max,  with  a  feeling  of  shame  and  wrath  such  as  he  had 
never  before  experienced,  realized  that  these  things  were 
being  done  in  his  name,  by  his  own  country,  and  all  with 
the  best  intentions  in  the  world.  Until  the  procession  had 
passed  out  of  sight  and  hearing,  he  stood  absolutely  still ; 
then  turned  homewards,  full  of  a  sore-hearted  sense  of 
coming  retribution,  and  a  wretched  perception  that  untold 
sorrow  awaited  Doreen. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

**  'Tis  delight  to  the  earth  when  your  little  feet  press  it ; 
'Tis  delight  to  the  earth  when  your  sweet  singings  bless  it ; 
'Tis  delight  to  the  earth  when  you  lie,  Love,  upon  it ; 
But,  oh,  his  delight  who  your  heart,  Love,  has  won  it !  " 

—  (From  the  Irish)  Dk.  Geobge  Sigerson. 

The  lovers  had  arranged  that  their  marriage  should  take 
place  at  the  end  of  July,  when  Doreen's  work  in  town  would 
be  finished;  then  they  were  to  spend  two  months  in  Ire- 
land, returning  to  Monkton  Verney  in  October,  when  the 
present  tenants  would  have  left.  The  spring  and  summer 
were  not  happy  to  either  of  them.  Max,  it  is  true,  had, 
upon  Doreen's  return  from  America,  recovered  the  energy 
which  for  a  time  had  seemed  crushed  out  of  him.  It  was 
scarcely  possible  for  him  to  be  daily  under  the  influence  of 
her  eager,  enthusiastic  nature  without  regaining  something 
of  his  former  zeal;  contact  with  her  fresh,  ardent  nature 
made  it  impossible  for  him  to  vegetate  as  he  had  done 
through  the  autumn  and  winter.  But  neither  of  them  real- 
ized how  greatly  the  shock  of  his  mother's  sudden  death 
was  still  affecting  him,  or  how  much  of  his  physical  inertia 
and  irritability  of  temper  was  due  to  this  cause.  Doreen, 
on  the  other  hand,  was  also  suffering  a  little  from  the  effect 
of  her  American  tour.  The  weary  journeys,  the  excitement, 
the  flattery  and  homage  she  had  received,  all  told  upon  her ; 
and  to  come  straight  back  from  such  a  life  to  the  strain 
of  her  professional  work  in  England,  and  to  the  thousand 
and  one  disagreeables  which  Home-rulers  had  to  put  up  with 

?85 


286  DOREEN 

at  that  time,  was  a  severe  test.  She  was  very  human,  and 
did  not  come  out  quite  unscathed.  When  goaded  beyond 
endurance  she  would  occasionally  astonish  people  by  an 
indignant  and  passionate  protest,  which  startled  them  all 
the  more  because  it  contrasted  so  curiously  with  her  usual 
patience,  and  genial,  happily-expressed  courtesy. 

Nor  was  the  outer  world  any  more  harmonious  than  their 
small  inner  circle.  A  fearful  dynamite  outrage  in  another 
country  had  shocked  all  Europe;  in  England  itself  there 
had  been  four  attempts  to  wreck  public  buildings ;  a  bitter 
religious  controversy  was  convulsing  the  nation  and  draw- 
ing forth  piteous  exhibitions  of  narrowness  and  bigotry; 
and  as  for  poor  Ireland,  it  was  daily  falling  into  deeper 
slavery ;  its  leaders  one  by  one  being  arrested  and  thrown 
into  Kilmainham,  while,  to  the  great  chagrin  of  the  Chief 
Secretary,  this  process  did  not  in  the  least  tend  to  quiet 
the  country,  but  rather  the  reverse. 

It  was,  however,  a  very  different  matter  that  caused  that 
first  "  little  rift  within  the  lute,"  which  was  gradually  to 
spread  and  spread  with  such  disastrous  results  to  Max  and 
Doreen.  Shortly  before  the  American  tour  Doreen  had 
received  a  call  one  day  from  a  certain  Mr.  Hawke,  who 
purported  to  be  arranging  a  charity  concert,  and  had  solic- 
ited her  services.  A  little  annoyed  that  he  had  called  in 
person  instead  of  writing  to  her  agent,  she  had  refused  to 
sing,  and  had  bowed  her  unwelcome  visitor  out.  But  she 
had  by  no  means  seen  the  last  of  him.  No  sooner  had  she 
returned  from  America  than  he  began  to  haunt  her  wherever 
she  went,  until  the  very  sight  of  his  sleek  beard  and  trim 
moustache  became  hateful  to  her.  It  was  in  vain  that  she 
ignored  him,  cut  him,  avoided  him;  the  infatuated  man  was 
not  to  be  got  rid  of. 

"  That  fellow  is  actually  skulking  on  the  door-step,"  said 
Max,  wrathfully,  one  day,  when  at  his  usual  hour  he  had  called 
to  see  her.     "  I  had  all  the  mind  in  the  world  to  kick  him." 

"  Don't  do  that,"  said  Doreen,  laughing ;  "  it  would  get 
into  the  papers,  and  that  would  be  dreadful," 


DOREEN  287 

"  It  all  comes  of  your  being  a  public  singer,"  said  Max, 
irritably ;  "  I  wish  you  would  consent  to  retire." 

"Come,  come,"  she  said  gaily,  "we  settled  that  question 
long  ago.  You  know  that  I  should  be  only  half  myself 
without  my  vocation,  and  this  troublesome  man  has  nothing 
to  do  with  my  singing.  Wh}^,  only  the  other  day  the 
papers  were  full  of  that  case  where  a  girl  in  private  life 
was  badgered  in  precisely  the  same  way,  until  she  was  act- 
ually forced  to  prosecute  her  tormentor." 

"  I  hate  to  think  that  by  paying  a  few  shillings  he  can 
stare  at  you  through  an  opera  glass,"  said  Max,  "and 
when  we  are  married,  I  don't  see  how  you  can  expect  me  to 
allow  it." 

Doreen  winced  at  the  word  "allow."  It  displeased 
her,  but  on  second  thoughts  it  struck  her  in  a  ludicrous 
sense. 

"I  am  sure,"  she  said,  heaving  a  mock  sigh,  "I  don't 
see  how  I  can  possibly  allow  you  to  go  into  Parliament, 
dearest.  Without  paying  anything  at  all,  the  ladies  in  the 
gallery  will  be  able,  behind  that  comfortable  lattice,  to 
level  their  opera  glasses  at  you.  And  as  to  the  public  meet- 
ings,—  I  really  don't  think  I  can  allow  you  to  speak  in 
public  any  more  when  we  are  married ! " 

Max  was  obliged  to  laugh. 

"You  know,  dear,"  she  said  coaxingly,  "in  the  average 
man  there  is  still  a  dreadful  amount  of  Eastern  feeling 
with  regard  to  women;  but  I  don't  think  there  is  really 
much  in  you." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure,"  said  Max,  thoughtfully.  "  You  see, 
men  have  for  so  many  generations  been  in  the  habit  of 
regarding  their  wives  as  Petruchio  did,  and  asserting,  ^  I  will 
be  master  of  what  is  mine  own ;  she  is  my  goods,  my  chat- 
tels,' that  it  is  not  so  easy  for  them  to  hold  fast  to  the  high 
ideal  of  unity  which  is  really  involved  in  the  parable  of 
Christ,  and  his  Bride  the  Church.  Good  heavens  !  how  sick 
it  makes  one  to  hear  those  words  read  at  the  marriage  of 
§Qme  brute  of  a  fellow  who  has  no  earthly  right  to  marry 


288  DOREEN 

an  innocent  girl,  and  who  is  certain  to  turn  into  a  selfish, 
hectoring  tyrant." 

They  fell  to  talking  of  other  things,  and  no  more  was  said 
as  to  the  obnoxious  admirer,  who  still  continued  to  haunt 
Bernard  Street,  until,  one  day.  Uncle  Garth  was  moved  to 
remonstrate  with  him,  after  which,  for  some  time,  he  was 
no  more  seen.  It  was  rumoured  that  when  quiet  Mr.  Garth 
did  lose  his  temper,  he  lost  it  right  royally,  and  that  the 
result  was  terrible. 

All  this  time  poor  Una  had  been  struggling  through  the 
arduous  work  of  the  season,  still  spending  her  Sundays  with 
the  O'Eyans,  and  then  going  back  to  the  weary  round  of 
practice,  lessons,  concerts,  scoldings  from  her  cousin,  and 
restless  nights  disturbed  by  tormenting  fears  and  nervous 
imaginings.  At  last  the  crisis  came  ;  quite  suddenly,  as  it 
seemed  to  the  world,  Una  broke  down.  It  was  early  in 
July,  and  a  wave  of  intense  heat  was  passing  over  the  land ; 
in  London,  there  seemed  absolutely  no  air,  and  the  child's 
look  of  exhaustion  struck  Doreen  at  once  when  she  entered 
the  artistes'  room  at  St.  James'  Hall  for  a  benefit  concert  at 
which  they  were  both  to  perform. 

"What  is  the  matter,  darling?  Is  this  hot  weather 
too  much  for  you  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Your  eyes  are  only  half 
an  hour  high,  as  we  say  in  Ireland,  and  you  look  as  if  you 
ought  to  be  in  bed  instead  of  being  decked  out  in  this  pretty 
Liberty  silk." 

"  Do  you  like  it  ?  "  said  Una,  with  momentary  pleasure, 
as  she  looked  down  at  the  soft,  sheeny  folds  of  her  little 
short-skirted  frock  strewn  with  a  delicate  pattern  of  forget- 
me-nots.  "  Cousin  Flora  said  it  was  no  use  getting  me 
pretty  frocks  if  my  face  was  to  be  the  colour  of  tallow. 
She  wanted  to  rouge  me  to-night,  but  I  wouldn't  let  her 
because  you  don't  use  rouge,  and  I  want  to  be  like  you. 
I  wish,  oh,  so  much,  that  I  were  in  bed!  I  have  got  to 
play  the  Kreutzer  Sonata  with  Marioni,  and  he  frightens 
me." 

"He  is  much  less  severe  than  he  looks/'  said  Doreen, 


DOREEN  289 

"And  I  shall  tell  him  that  you  are  not  well.  What  have 
you  been  doing  with  yourself  since  Sunday  ?  " 

"  I  have  practised  rather  longer  than  usuaT ;  but  it  doesn't 
seem  any  good ;  I  can't  get  it  as  it  ought  to  be,"  said  Una, 
despairingly.  "  And  often  now  I  get  such  a  horrid  pain  in 
my  chest,  and  when  I  tell  Cousin  Flora,  she  says  I  eat  too 
much,  though  you  know  at  every  meal-time  she  scolds  me 
for  being  dainty  and  eating  too  little." 

Doreen  could  not  help  smiling,  and  yet  her  heart  burnt 
within  her  at  the  thought  of  the  cruel  way  in  which  this 
child  was  being  worked  to  death.  It  was  with  deep  anxiety 
that  she  watched  the  fragile  little  face  as  the  sonata  pro- 
ceeded ;  not  even  Madame  De  Berg  could  have  complained 
that  Una  was  colourless  now.  A  vivid  flush  had  mounted  to 
her  cheeks;  her  expression,  as  usual,  when  she  was  playing, 
was  perfectly  tranquil  and  absorbed ;  people  remarked  how 
naturally  it  all  came  to  her,  how  entirely  at  ease  she  seemed, 
how  beautifully  unconscious  and  childlike  she  was,  little 
knowing  of  the  anxious  thoughts  that  were  at  that  moment 
passing  through  the  child's  mind,  or  of  the  weary  effort  it 
cost  her  to  get  through  her  task.  But  at  last  it  was  over, 
and  Doreen's  strong  arm  was  round  her  once  more,  guiding 
her  through  the  narrow  little  waiting-room  out  on  to  the 
cool,  stone  staircase,  where  Sardoni  kindly  brought  them 
chairs,  and  Terrier  came  out  in  his  fatherly  fashion  and 
insisted  on  fetching  her  some  iced  lemonade. 

"  I  will  leave  you  to  look  after  her,  and  Mrs.  Muchmore 
to  superintend,"  said  Doreen,  as  the  stern-looking  Nor- 
wegian attendant  came  to  tell  her  that  it  was  time  for 
her  song. 

Something  in  the  man's  face  made  her  look  at  him  a 
second  time.  She  liked  him,  and  had  long  felt  sorry 
for  him. 

"  You,  too,  look  ill  to-night,"  she  said  pleasantly.  "  This 
heat  must  be  a  contrast  to  your  climate  in  Norway." 

"  It  is  a  great  contrast  in  every  way,"  he  said,  his  stern- 
ness melting  a  little  beneath  her  sunshiny  smile.     He  held 


290  DOREEN' 

open  the  swing  door  for  her,  and,  with  a  word  to  the 
accompanist,  she  was  led  up  the  steps  on  to  the  platform. 
At  the  close  of  her  song,  a  little  boy  stepped  forward  and 
presented  her  with  a  bouquet;  and,  as  she  rejoined  Una  on 
the  stairs,  she  found,  deftly  fastened  to  the  stem  of  a  white 
rose,  a  small  envelope  sealed  with  green  wax.  Handing 
the  flowers  to  Una,  she  slowly  mounted  the  stairs  to  the 
dressing-room,  reading  the  little  note  with  astonishment 
and  dismay.     It  ran  as  follows :  — 

"  You  have  faithfully  kept  the  promise,  made  many  years  ago  in 
the  fernery.  I,  for  whose  sake  you  then  swore  to  keep  silence,  beg 
that  you  will  come  to  see  me  this  evening  immediately  after  the  con- 
cert. It  will  be  my  sole  chance  of  speaking  with  you,  and  of  enabling 
you  to  help  M.  H.  in  a  danger  which  appears  to  be  threatening  him. 
Say  nothing  to  any  other  person,  but  come  alone  to  the  Caf6  men- 
tioned above,  and  inquire  at  the  private  door  for  Dr.  Duval.  I  know 
that  I  am  asking  you  no  light  thing,  but,  for  the  sake  of  helping  your 
fiance^  feel  sure  you  will  be  willing  to  risk  much. 

"J.  D." 

To  hear  from  one  who  seems  utterly  to  have  passed  out 
of  our  life,  suddenly  to  be  drawn  back  to  the  remembrance 
of  a  past  that  one  would  fain  forget,  must  at  all  times  be 
painful.  Doreen's  heart  beat  uneasily.  What  was  the 
meaning  of  it  all?  Why  had  Desmond  so  unexpectedly 
and  so  mysteriously  summoned  her  ?  And  what  could  be 
the  danger  that  threatened  her  lover  ? 

"  I  must  be  imagining  all  this  —  it  can't  be  real,"  she 
thought  to  herself,  looking  up  from  the  unwelcome  little 
note  and  glancing  round  the  room.  But  there  was  the 
well-known  looking-glass,  at  which  for  years  she  had  put 
the  last  touches  to  her  toilette  before  going  down  to  sing. 
There  was  her  red  "Colleen  Bawn"  thrown  across  the  chair, 
and  Una's  blue  opera  cloak,  and  Mrs.  Muchmore's  familiar 
Paisley  shawl.  She  was  in  her  own  every-day  world,  and 
into  it  there  had  fallen  suddenly  this  startling  letter,  this 
summons  to  go  alone  at  night  to  meet  the  man  who  had 
caused  James  Foxell's  death. 


DOREEN-  49! 

It  was  characteristic  of  Doreen  that  she  never  hesitated 
for  a  moment  as  to  obeying  the  summons.  Of  course,  if  a 
danger  threatened  Max,  and  his  old  tutor  could  enable  her 
to  avert  it,  it  was  to  one  of  her  character  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world  to  go  without  hesitation.  She  vaguely 
disliked  her  errand.  It  flashed  through  her  mind  that  if 
by  any  chance  Madame  De  Berg,  her  pitiless  enemy,  were 
to  become  aware  of  what  she  was  doing,  she  would  prob- 
ably put  a  false  construction  upon  it.  But  Patrick  O'Ryan's 
daughter  was  not  likely  to  be  daunted  by  the  dread  of  con- 
sequences. A  disagreeable  duty  lay  before  her,  and,  as  was 
her  habit,  she  walked  up  to  it  like  a  Trojan. 

"  I  must  explain  to  Hagar  Muchmore  as  we  drive  home 
that  I  have  to  call  at  this  place,"  she  thought  to  herself ; 
"and  she  can  wait  outside  in  the  brougham.  She  is  a 
sensible  woman,  and  I  can  make  her  understand  that 
nothing  is  to  be  said." 

But  this  arrangement  was  frustrated ;  in  fact,  everything 
was  driven  for  a  time  out  of  Doreen's  mind  by  Una's  sudden 
collapse.  The  little  violinist  just  got  through  her  last  solo. 
To  satisfy  the  exigeant  public,  and  perhaps  to  save  herself 
the  weary  effort  of  again  and  again  mounting  the  platform 
to  bow  her  acknowledgments,  she  even  gave  them  an  encore^ 
playing  a  bright  little  Irish  jig,  which  was  a  favourite  at 
Bernard  Street.  The  people  liked  to  beat  their  feet  in  time ; 
it  pleased  them  to  be  stirred  into  a  longing  to  dance,  and  it 
pleased  them  to  fancy  that  the  child  was  only  wishing 
to  dance  herself,  —  that  she  was  just  a  light-hearted,  care- 
less little  soul,  whose  happy  playtime  of  youth  was  ren- 
dered brighter  by  the  great  genius  which  had  been  bestowed 
on  her. 

But  Una,  as  she  went  down  the  platform  steps,  vaguely 
knew  that  it  was  all  over ;  she  had  endured  the  long  strain 
for  many  months,  but  at  last  the  end  had  come,  and  she 
could  bear  no  more.  While  the  audience  still  applauded 
her  Irish  air,  she  was  making  her  way  back  to  Doreen, 
blinded  by  tears ;  she  would  have  fallen  had  not  the  Nor- 

u2 


292  DOREEN 

wegian  attendant  caught  her  in  his  strong  arms,  and,  at 
Terrier's  suggestion,  carried  her  straight  out  on  to  the  stair- 
case, where  what  little  air  there  was  could  be  had.  Though 
very  faint,  she  was  still  partly  conscious,  and  begged  pite- 
ously  to  be  taken  home ;  in  her  wretchedness,  the  one  com- 
forting thought  in  the  world  was  of  the  little  white-curtained 
bed,  in  which  she  now  thought  she  should  like  to  lie 
forever. 

"Hagar,"  said  Doreen,  "you  must  take  her  at  once  to 
Madame  De  Berg's.  It  will  be  another  quarter  of  an 
hour  before  I  am  free,  and  you  know  I  promised  that  we 
would  see  her  safely  home  to-night.  Take  her  back  in  the 
brougham,  and  if  possible  stay  and  see  her  into  bed.  You 
might  leave  a  message  asking  Mr.  Brian  Osmond  to  call  and 
see  her  as  you  go  home." 

"  You  are  a  bold  person  to  take  the  law  into  your  hands 
like  that,"  said  Ferrier,  smiling.  "  You  may  be  quite  sure 
Madame  De  Berg  won't  approve  of  paying  for  the  doctor." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Doreen,  her  eyes  flashing.  "  I  am 
not  going  to  sit  still  any  longer  and  watch  the  massacre  of 
the  innocents.  Madame  De  Berg  is  dining  to-night  at  Eich- 
mond,  and  can't  possibly  be  home  till  midnight,  and  in  the 
mean  time  something  must  be  done  for  Una.  You  had  better 
stay  there,  Hagar,  as  long  as  you  are  needed." 

Here  the  Norseman  interrupted  the  discussion. 

"  Your  carriage  is  waiting  in  Piccadilly,"  he  said.  "  Per- 
haps I  had  better  carry  little  Miss  Kingston ;  she  is  hardly 
fit  to  walk." 

"Well,  thank  you,"  said  Doreen,  "if  she  is  not  too 
heavy." 

For  the  first  time  she  saw  the  grave,  downcast  face  lighted 
by  an  irrepressible  smile. 

"  Scarcely  that,  I  think,"  he  said,  lifting  her  up  as  if  she 
had  been  a  mere  feather's  weight.  Doreen  stooped  to  kiss 
the  little  tear-stained  face,  then  stood  watching  the  droop- 
ing golden  head  as  it  lay  back  on  the  arm  of  the  tall  Norse- 
man, while  close  behind  Hagar  Muchmore,  in  her  Paisley 


DOREEN  293 

shawl,  followed,  talking  in  her  usual  brisk,  business-like 
fashion. 

Doreen's  last  solo  came  very  late  in  the  programme.  She 
was  thankful  when  at  last  it  was  over,  and  hurrying  up  to 
the  dressing-room  she  threw  on  her  cloak,  and  catching  up 
her  music  and  her  bouquet,  ran  swiftly  down  the  stone 
stairs,  hearing  strains  of  a  quartette  from  "II  Barbiere"  as 
she  passed  the  door,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  encoun- 
tering Frithiof  l^alck,  the  attendant. 

"  Can  I  call  you  a  cab  ?  "  he  said.  "  Your  carriage  has 
not  come  back  yet." 

"  It  will  not  come  back,"  she  said.  "  I  will  have  a  cab, 
please.  No,  not  a  four-wheeler;  it  is  far  too  hot."  Then, 
as  he  returned  to  put  her  into  the  hansom,  "  Did  little  Miss 
Kingston  get  off  all  right  ?  " 

"I  think  she  was  unconscious  by  the  time  we  reached 
the  carriage,"  he  replied.  "  This  heat  is  enough  to  affect 
any  one." 

"  Thank  you  for  all  your  help,"  said  Doreen,  pleasantly. 
"  We  have  given  you  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to-night." 

Frithiof  Falck's  polite  rejoinder  a  little  startled  her,  for 
the  Norseman  had  the  character  of  being  extremely  taciturn 
and  proud. 

"  What  address  shall  I  give  the  driver  ?  "  he  asked  as  he 
closed  the  doors  of  the  hansom. 

"I  will  speak  to  him  myself,"  said  Doreen,  her  face 
changing  a  little  at  the  recollection  of  what  lay  before  her. 
"  Good  evening." 

Frithiof  Falck  bowed  and  withdrew,  while  Doreen 
through  the  door  in  the  roof  bade  the  driver  go  to  a  certain 
Cafe  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Leicester  Square. 

The  cool  night  air  was  refreshing.  She  picked  up  her 
bouquet  and  let  the  soft  night  breeze  blow  through  the 
fragrant  roses  and  heliotrope.  There  was  one  specially 
beautiful  Niphetos  which  took  her  back  to  the  time  of  the 
Firdale  election,  when  Max  had  been  delighted  to  find 
a  similar  rose  for  her  to  wear  in  one  of  the  greenhouses  at 


294  DOHEEN 

Monkton  Verney.  She  wished  she  could  give  him  this  one 
to-night,  when  sultry  London  was  so  much  in  need  of  every- 
thing that  could  make  it  sweet  and  pure.  And  then  she 
remembered  that  this  uncomfortable  errand,  which  she  so 
little  liked,  was  all  for  his  sake,  and  a  great  anxiety  as  to 
the  danger  that  was  threatening  him  drove  out  every  other 
thought.  Before  long  the  hansom  drew  up  in  what  seemed 
a  sufficiently  quiet  and  orderly  street.  She  sprang  out,  leav- 
ing her  bouquet  behind  her,  and  rang  the  bell  in  the  manner 
of  one  who  does  not  wish  to  be  kept  waiting.  A  feeling  of 
vague  discomfort  stole  over  her  as  she  stood  on  the  door- 
step. She  watched  the  steady  approach  of  another  hansom, 
and  was  conscious  of  an  inexplicable  desire  to  be  safely 
sheltered  within  the  house  before  it  passed  by.  Her  wish 
was  gratified,  but  barely  gratified.  She  breathed  more  freely 
when  the  door  was  closed  behind  her,  and  she  found  herself 
in  a  dingy  passage  confronting  a  smart  maid-servant  whose 
looks  she  did  not  like. 

"Dr.  Duval  is  expecting  you,  lady.  Will  you  step  this 
way  ?  " 

She  led  her  upstairs  into  a  small  sitting-room,  where,  to 
her  relief,  she  at  once  recognized  in  the  haggard,  dark-eyed 
man  who  greeted  her,  Max  Hereford's  former  tutor. 

"  I  should  have  known  you  again,  Mr.  Desmond,''  she  said, 
taking  his  hand;  "though  in  some  ways  you  are  much 
altered." 

"  I  might  make  the  same  remark,"  said  Desmond,  drawing 
forward  a  chair  for  her.  "  We  have  both  of  us  lived  through 
much  since  the  days  at  Castle  Karey.  I  am  afraid  you  feel 
this  room  warm." 

"  Yes,"  said  Doreen,  throwing  off  her  red  cloak ;  "  it  is 
stifling.     Can  we  not  have  the  window  open  ?  " 

"I  am  afraid  the  conversation  you  and  I  must  have 
together  is  not  altogether  consistent  with  open  Avindows. 
Believe  me,  I  would  not  have  asked  you  to  come  here  to- 
night could  I  possibly  have  avoided  it.  But  I  am  in  the  great- 
est danger  of  being  arrested.    When  a  man  has  public  and 


DOREEN'  295 

private  foes,  and  both  of  them  set  their  bloodhounds  on  his 
track  —  well,  he  has  to  walk  warily.  I  hope  to  leave  Lon- 
don in  two  or  three  hours,  but  I  didn't  dare  to  risk  coming 
to  your  house,  or  meeting  you  anywhere  but  here.  A  house 
of  this  sort  is  the  last  they  would  expect  me  to  be  in.  You 
were  a  brave  child,  and  I  made  sure  you  would  prove  a 
brave  woman,  and  would  come." 

"  A  woman  must  be  a  coward  indeed  who  would  not  risk 
much  for  the  man  she  loves,"  said  Doreen,  quietly.  Her 
eyes  grew  soft  and  tender,  a  delicate  colour  stole  over  her 
face  and  neck.  Desmond  sighed,  and  began  to  pace  the 
room  restlessly. 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  it  is  that  threatens  him,"  he  said. 
"  It  has  come  to  my  knowledge  —  how,  I  am  not  able  to  tell 
you  —  that  our  secret  has  been  discovered,  or  in  part  dis- 
covered. You  remember  the  French  valet  at  Castle  Karey  ? 
It  seems  that  he,  from  certain  words  I  let  fall  during  my 
illness  while  I  was  delirious,  guessed  that  I  and  my  pupil  had 
been  present  at  Foxell's  death;  the  man  knew  much  more 
English  than  he  allowed.  Years  afterwards,  having  fer- 
reted out  a  little  more,  apparently  by  eavesdropping,  he 
was  dismissed  by  Max  in  sudden  anger,  and  to  revenge  him- 
self he  went  to  Ireland  and  industriously  tried  to  find  out 
further  details  of  Foxell's  death.  He  got  to  know  the 
widow,  who  eagerly  caught  at  his  scraps  of  information  on  the 
subject,  and  the  two  of  them  are  now  taking  active  steps  to 
hunt  me  up,  and  they  are  keeping  a  very  sharp  watch  on 
Max  also.  They  threaten  to  have  Lough  Lee  dragged,  but 
that's  an  expensive  affair,  and  it  may  not  come  off;  if  it 
should  be  done,  I  think  Max  might  find  himself  in  difficulties. 
This  valet  can  swear  to  his  having  been  at  the  lough  on 
the  day  of  Foxell's  disappearance,  and  Max  is  fettered  by 
his  oath  of  secrecy,  which  I  am  quite  certain  he  would 
never  break.  I  shall  be  safely  out  of  the  country  and  dif- 
ficult to  trace ;  but  they  can  lay  their  hands  on  Max  at  any 
time,  and  he  would  find  himself  in  an  awkward  enough 
position.     Now  I  want  you,  if  anything  of  this  sort  hap- 


296  DOREEN- 

pens,  and  Max  finds  himself  falsely  accused,  to  step  forward 
at  the  right  moment  and  say  that  you  met  me  here  on  this 
5th  of  July,  and  that  I  released  him  wholly  from  his  oath 
of  secrecy,  and  desired  that  in  that  case  everything  should 
be  revealed  to  the  authorities." 

Doreen  had  listened  with  breathless  attention;  she  in- 
terposed now  with  a  hasty  question. 

"  Why  could  you  not  have  told  all  this  to  Max  himself  ? 
It  would  surely  be  far  better  for  him  to  know  that  he  is  in 
some  danger." 

."On  the  contrary,"  said  Desmond,  "that  is  the  very 
thing  to  be  avoided.  Let  him  go  about  the  world  unsus- 
piciously ;  it  is  by  far  his  best  chance.  But  there  are  other 
reasons.  I  could  not  consent  to  his  knowing  that  I  am  or 
have  recently  been  in  London.  It  might  greatly  injure  his 
whole  career,  if  it  became  known  that  he  was  mixed  up  in 
any  way  with  me.  I  will  neither  see  him,  nor  write  to  him, 
nor  communicate  with  him  in  any  way.  Neither  can  I  author- 
ize you  to  speak  to  him  about  this  release  from  his  oath, 
unless  the  danger  I  spoke  of  should  arise.  Until  that  time 
comes  you  are  both  bound  as  before.  And  I  trust  to  your 
silence  now  as  I  have  trusted  to  your  word  all  these  years." 

"  I  do  not  understand  why  I  may  not  tell  Max  now.  I 
have  no  secrets  from  my  future  husband ;  you  have  no  right 
to  expect  me  to  keep  silence  as  to  this  interview." 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  rights.  It  is  a  question  of  abso- 
lute necessity,"  said  Desmond,  smiling  a  little  at  her  vehe- 
mence. "  It  might  be,  as  I  told  you,  the  shipwreck  of  your 
Jianc&s  political  career,  if  he  knew  the  whole  truth  about 
me.     It  is  for  his  sake  that  you  must  keep  silence." 

"I  will  not  promise  un^il  you  have  clearly  made  me 
understand  how  it  could  harm  him  to  know  the  truth,"  said 
Doreen,  resolutely. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Desmond ;  "  I  will  tell  you.  And  by 
telling  you  I  put  my  life  in  your  hands ;  but  your  hands,  I 
am  well  assured,  are  strong  to  save,  and  would  not  willingly 
destroy.     You  are  aware  that  there  have  within  the  last 


DOREEN-  297 

few  months  been  four  attempts  to  wreck  public  buildings 
in  England  with  dynamite ;  already  the  police  have  got 
hold  of  some  of  the  lesser  members  of  our  society,  but  they 
have  not  yet  got  the  member  who  was  mainly  responsible 
for  the  four  attempts.  I  am  that  member.  At  present  we 
have  failed.  But  by  and  bye  you  will  see  we  shall  succeed 
very  well." 

Doreen  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"You  are  a  dynamiter!"  she  gasped,  in  mingled  wrath 
and  horror  to  think  that  this  man,  for  whose  sake  she  and 
Max  had  endured  so  much,  should  have  fallen  to  such  a 
depth. 

Voice,  manner,  look,  were  so  expressive  that  Desmond 
faltered  a  little. 

"  As  I  said  just  now,"  he  remarked  quietly,  "  I  put  my 
life  and  liberty  in  your  hands  by  telling  you  the  whole  truth 
at  your  express  desire." 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  betray  you  ?  "  said  Doreen,  indig- 
nantly. "  Your  life  and  liberty  are  perfectly  safe  as  far  as 
I  am  concerned.  As  you  said  just  now,  ray  hands  are,  I 
hope,  strong  to  save ;  certainly  God  did  not  make  them  to  be 
instruments  of  destruction.  And  yours  too,  they  ought  to 
save,  not  to  destroy.  Oh,  Mr.  Desmond,  by  all  you  most 
reverence,  I  do  beg  you  to  give  up  this  awful  work  ! " 

Her  voice  had  grown  soft  and  pleading  again,  tears 
gathered  in  her  eyes  and  slowly  fell.  John  Desmond  looked 
at  her  in  surprise,  but  he  was  visibly  moved  by  her  appeal. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  he  said  at  last.  "  You,  a  Fenian's 
daughter,  ought  to  realize  that  there  are  other  ways  of  effect- 
ing reform  besides  constitutional  agitation." 

Doreen  dashed  away  her  tears. 

"  The  Fenian  rising,"  she  said  indignantly,  "  whatever 
its  faults,  was  an  honest  attempt  at  revolution ;  it  was  ill- 
conducted,  ill-timed,  and,  as  I  think,  altogether  mistaken. 
My  father  himself  lived  to  think  that  constitutional  methods 
would  do  more  to  help  Ireland ;  but  the  Fenians  were  just  as 
honest  as  the  English  Revolutionists  who  fought  against 


298  DOREEN 

the  Stuarts :  they  fought  with  the  recognized  weapons  of 
war,  not  with  a  devilish  thing  like  dynamite." 

"You  are  no  more  logical  than  the  rest  of  your  sex,  Miss 
O'Ryan,"  said  Desmond.  "I  defy  you  to  prove  that  the 
weapon  of  dynamite  is  one  bit  more  immoral  than  any  other 
weapon  of  warfare." 

.  "  I  don't  care  a  rush  for  logical  proof,"  said  Doreen,  scorn- 
fully. "But  I  know  that  where  most  brave  and  honourable 
men  would  consent  to  fight  with  sword  or  gun,  no  man  I 
could  respact  would  stoop  to  use  such  a  horrible  thing  as 
dynamite." 

"  You  hit  hard,"  said  Desmond,  "  and  yet  you  should  be 
grateful  to  me,  for  believe  me  I  have  sacrificed  much  for 
your  country." 

"Do  you  call  this  sort  of  work  sacrificing  yourself  for 
Ireland  ?  Alas,  poor  Ireland !  Many  people  are  anxious  to 
serve  her,  but  it  seems  to  me  their  efforts  generally  end  in 
riveting  her  chains  yet  more  firmly.  How  can  you  be  so 
mad  as  to  think  you  are  really  serving  Ireland  by  attempt- 
ing to  blow  up  public  buildings  in  England  ?  " 

"Ever  since  Queen  Elizabeth's  time,"  said  Desmond, 
"  there  has  been  an  English '  proverb  which  says,  ^  Look  to 
Ireland,  if  you  would  have  peace  in  England.'  We  who 
play  upon  the  English  imagination  —  the  stolid  imagination 
of  John  Bull  —  by  dynamite  scares,  endeavour  only  to  act 
that  proverb  in  dramatic  fashion.  We  put  an  end  to  peace 
in  England,  and  thus  compel  them  to  look  to  Ireland.  It  is 
just  what  you  constitutional  agitators  do  in  tamer  fashion." 

"In  honourable  fashion,  you  should  say,"  said  Doreen; 
"  while  you  stoop  to  dishonourable  efforts,  which  can  only 
make  Ireland  and  the  Irish  hateful  in  the  eyes  of  honest 
men.  Why  don't  you  turn  back  while  yet  there  is  time  ? 
You  might  help  the  cause  in  a  thousand  ways." 

But  Desmond  shook  his  head.  "  I  am  pledged,"  he  said ; 
"  and  I  have  a  strong  conviction  that  I  shall  lay  down  my 
life  in  this  work.  By  the  bye,  in  case  anything  does  happen 
to  me,  you  had  better  know  the  various  names  under  which 


DOREEN  299 

I  pass.  Dr.  Duval,  you  see,  heads  the  list."  He  handed 
her  a  paper,  on  which  he  had  scrawled  a  number,  a  German 
name,  and  an  English  name.  "  Shall  you  remember  them  ?  " 
he  asked,  thrusting  the  paper  into  the  gas  till  it  was  con- 
sumed. 

"  Yes ;  I  shall  remember,"  she  said,  with  a  shudder ;  and 
turning  away,  she  took  up  her  cloak  from  the  back  of  the 
chair. 

"  The  ^  Colleen  Bawn '  has  grown  taller,  like  its  owner," 
said  Desmond,  with  a  smile,  as  he  helped  her  to  put  it  on. 
"  By  the  bye,  tell  me,  how  is  Miss  Hereford  ?  And  is  she 
still  unmarried  ?  " 

"  She  is  unmarried,  and  still  living  with  her  father  and 
mother  in  Wilton  Crescent,"  said  Doreen.  "She  is  very 
little  altered,  and  as  pretty  and  light-hearted  as  ever." 

Then  Desmond  told  her  of  the  set  he  had  fallen  in  with 
in  America,  and  of  the  man  who  had  specially  influenced 
him. 

"  I  have  your  promise  of  entire  secrecy  ? "  he  added, 
with  a  stifled  sigh.  "You  will  swear  not  to  mention  to 
any  one  that  you  have  seen  me  here  to-night  ?  You  will 
keep  absolute  silence  with  regard  to  all  that  has  passed, 
unless  this  valet  and  Mrs.  Foxell  get  Max  into  difliculties  ?  " 

"I  swear  it,  so  help  me  God,"  said  Doreen,  giving  him 
her  hand.  "  And  if,  at  any  time,  I  should  need  to  write  to 
you,  where  are  you  to  be  found  ?  " 

Desmond  slightly  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  have  no  home,  no  headquarters  even,"  he  said  with  a 
melancholy  smile ;  "  in  a  couple  of  hours  I  hope  to  be  on 
my  way  to  America.  But  there  is  nothing  more  I  could  do 
for  you  and  Max  save  to  avoid  all  communication  with 
you.  I  am  far  from  being  a  desirable  acquaintance,  and 
have  brought  you  nothing  but  annoyance  since  that  unlucky 
day  at  Lough  Lee,  when  Foxell  went  to  his  account." 

"Would  to  God  we  had  never  chanced  to  go  near  the 
lough  that  day ! "  said  Doreen. 

And  Desmond,  who  had  learnt  to  contemplate  callously 


300  DOREEN 

enough  the  thought  of  the  sufferings  he  might  cause  to 
hundreds  of  innocent  people  in  the  course  of  his  dynamite 
campaign,  felt  a  pang  as  he  saw  the  burdened  expression 
on  the  face  of  this  one  Irish  girl,  who  for  years  had  been 
forced  to  bear  the  consequences  of  his  deed. 

"Think  of  me  kindly  when  you  can,"  he  said;  "and 
remember  that  I,  too,  have  suffered  much." 

She  once  more  gave  him  her  hand. 

"  I  will  remember,"  she  said.     "  Good-bye." 

He  went  down  the  stairs  with  her,  and  opened  the  door. 
Doreen  gathered  up  her  white  dress  more  closely,  rapidly 
crossed  the  pavement,  and  had  her  foot  on  the  step  of  the 
hansom,  when  suddenly  the  horse  began  to  kick  and  plunge. 
Desmond  hastened  out  to  her  assistance,  and  put  her  safely 
into  the  cab;  then  noticing  that  from  the  further  end  of 
the  street  rapid  steps  were  approaching,  he  beat  a  retreat 
into  the  house,  and  promptly  closed  the  door. 

Doreen  leant  back  in  the  hansom,  utterly  spent  with  the 
excitement  and  fatigue,  and  sick  with  anxiety,  as  she 
thought  of  the  trouble  that  threatened  to  shadow  her 
lover's  career.  And  yet,  after  all,  was  it  not  much  that  she 
herself  had  been  entrusted  with  the  power  to  save  him  ? 
It  could  be  but  a  passing  trouble,  a  brief  annoyance ;  she 
was  half  inclined  to  think  that  it  might  really  in  the  end 
be  better  if  the  whole  truth  should  transpire.  Unpleasant 
as  all  the  publicity  would  be,  neither  she  nor  Max  had  done 
anything  to  be  ashamed  of;  and  as  for  Desmond,  it  was 
little  likely  that  they  would  be  able  to  track  him. 

"  How  late  you  are,"  said-  Michael,  opening  the  door  for 
her,  when  she  arrived  in  Bernard  Street.  "  Mrs.  Muchmore 
has  come  back,  and  from  her  account  she  seems  to  have  got 
the  better  of  Madame  De  Berg.  At  any  rate,  Una  is  safe 
in  Brian  Osmond's  hands,  which  is  some  comfort." 

Doreen  was  relieved  to  find  that  the  boy  was  so  much  taken 
up  with  Una's  story  that  he  asked  no  awkward  questions  as 
to  the  reason  of  her  late  return ;  and  gradually  she,  too, 
became  absorbed   in    thoughts    of   the   poor   little  infant 


DOREEN  301 

prodigy,  and  the  painful  recollection  of  her  talk  with  John 
Desmond  faded  from  her  mind.  Early  the  next  morning 
Brian  Osmond  called  to  see  her.  She  and  her  aunt  were 
still  at  the  breakfast  table,  but  Mr.  Garth  and  Michael 
had  already  set  out  for  their  day's  work,  and  the  children 
had  dispersed  to  their  lessons. 

"I  have  come  to  make  a  very  bold  request,"  said  the 
young  doctor.  "You  are,  I  know,  the  best  friend  in  the 
world  to  little  Una  Kingston.  I  am  very  anxious  about 
her.  She  has  utterly  broken  down,  as  one  might  have  fore- 
told, after  all  she  has  been  subjected  to.'^ 

"  What  is  wrong  with  her  ?  "  asked  Doreen,  anxiously. 

"  She  has  a  sharp  attack  of  pericarditis.  The  great  risk 
is  that  the  heart  Itself  should  become  affected,  and  her  only 
hope  is  absolute  quiet  and  the  greatest  care.  She  will 
never  get  those  from  Madame  De  Berg,  who  has  no  idea  of 
nursing,  or  even  of  speaking  to  a  sick  person  in  the  right 
way.  If  she  has  a  sick-nurse  to  take  the  night  work,  do 
you  think  it  would  .  be  possible  for  you  to  take  charge 
of  her?" 

"There  is  nothing  I  should  like  better,"  said  Doreen, 
eagerly. 

"  Let  the  poor  child  be  moved  here  at  once,"  said  Mrs. 
Garth,  kindly.  "  The  visitor's  room  is  empty,  and  we  should 
like  to  have  her." 

"  But  how  about  Madame  De  Berg,"  said  Doreen,  doubt- 
fully. "  She  cordially  detests  me,  and  is  hardly  likely  to 
consent  to  such  a  plan." 

"  I  think  we  must  lay  a  little  plot.  I  am  going  round  to 
see  her  now.  Can  you  not  manage  to  call  and  inquire  after 
her  while  I  am  there  ?  Then,  between  us,  with  your  gift  of 
blarney  and  my  stern  medical  verdict,  we  may  surely  con- 
trive to  induce  such  a  selfish  woman  to  part  with  a  patient 
who  will  certainly  give  a  good  deal  of  trouble." 

Doreen  laughed.  "I  will  be  round  in  good  time,"  she 
said;  "and  we  will  be  ready  to  receive  her  here  this 
afternoon." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"  O  perfect  love  that  'dureth  long  ! 

Dear  growth  that,  shaded  by  the  palms, 
And  breathed  on  by  the  angels'  song, 
Blooms  on  in  heaven's  eternal  calms  I 

*•  How  great  the  task  to  guard  thee  here, 
Where  wind  is  rough  and  frost  is  keen, 
And  all  the  ground  with  doubt  and  fear 
Is  chequered,  birth  and  death  between  I 

"  Space  is  against  thee  —  it  can  part ; 
Time  is  against  thee  —  it  can  chill ; 
Words  —  they  but  render  half  the  heart  ; 
Deeds  —  they  are  poor  to  our  rich  will." 

Jean  Ingelow. 

At  this  very  moment  Max  was  sitting  over  Ms  solitary 
breakfast  in  Grosvenor  Square.  The  morning  was  not  his 
best  time.  He  had  never  been  one  of  those  people  who 
rise  with  a  glad  sense  of  life  and  energy;  but  to-day  an 
unusually  heavy  cloud  brooded  over  his  face.  He  had 
scarcely  slept  at  all,  and  whenever  he  had  sunk  for  a  few 
minutes  into  an  uneasy  doze,  he  had  been  haunted  by 
wretched  dreams  about  Doreen.  Though  apt  at  times  to  be 
somewhat  over-nervous  about  his  health,  he  did  not  at  all 
realize  to-day  that  he  was  physically  ill,  but  put  down  all 
his  wretchedness  to  the  disturbing  thoughts  which  had  been 
preying  upon  him  ever  since  the  previous  evening.  Finding 
himself  unexpectedly  released  from  an  engagement,  he  had 
most  unfortunately  strayed  into  St.  James'  Hall,  about  half 

302 


DOREEN  303 

way  through.  Ferrier's  benefit  concert.  Immediately  after 
Doreen's  last  song,  he  had  left,  with  the  intention  of  going- 
round  to  the  small  side  door  in  Piccadilly  Place  used  by 
the  artistes,  that  he  might  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her 
home.  But  there  was  a  little  delay  in  getting  out  of  the 
Regent  Street  door,  and  he  had  not  got  further  than  Picca- 
dilly Circus  when,  chancing  to  look  up,  he  saw,  to  his 
astonishment,  Doreen  quite  alone  in  a  hansom.  He  ob- 
served that  the  bouquet,  which  he  had  seen  presented  to 
her,  was  raised  to  her  face;  and,  acting  on  an  impulse 
which  he  did  not  pause  to  analyze,  he  sprang  into  a 
passing  cab  and  bade  the  driver  to  follow  her.  To  his 
amazement,  instead  of  driving  to  Bernard  Street,  her  cab 
drew  up  at  the  private  door  of  a  disreputable  Caf^  near 
Leicester  Square.  Surely  he  must  have  made  a  mistake; 
but  even  as  he  wondered,  the  well-known  red  cloak  passed 
swiftly  across  the  pavement,  and  in  a  moment  Doreen  had 
disappeared  within  the  house.  For  a  minute  he  thought  he 
must  be  going  out  of  his  mind,  and  that  the  whole  thing 
was  but  a  phantom  of  his  disordered  imagination.  He  let 
his  man  drive  on  for  some  distance.  Then,  suddenly  dis- 
missing him,  he  walked  slowly  back,  half  expecting  to  find 
that  the  affair  had  been  a  dream;  but  there  stood  the 
hansom  at  the  door  of  the  house,  and  as  he  paced  by  he  saw 
lying  upon  the  seat,  not  only  the  bouquet,  but  Doreen's 
music-case,  a  perfectly  unmistakable  music-case  of  green 
plush,  worked  by  Una  with  a  pattern  of  shamrock  leaves. 
Miserable  thoughts  rushed  to  his  mind.  What  had  she  done 
with  Mrs.  Muchmore  ?  How  came  it  that  Doreen,  who  was 
fastidiously  particular,  —  or  had  professed  to  be,  —  should 
come  alone  at  such  an  hour  to  such  a  place  ?  He  never 
knew  how  many  times  he  walked  the  length  of  that  street, 
but  at  last,  when  he  was  at  the  extreme  end,  a  sound  of  kick- 
ing hoofs  made  him  hastily  turn  and  retrace  his  steps.  He 
was  just  in  time  to  see  Doreen  helped  into  the  hansom  by  a 
man  whose  features  he  could  not  at  that  distance  distinguish. 
By  the  time  he  had  reached  the  house  the  door  was  closed, 


304  DOREEN 

and  the  cab  had  turned  the  corner  and  disappeared.  The 
incident  looked  much  worse  after  a  restless  night.  Max 
felt  in  a  fever  to  hear  her  explanation,  and  as  the  clock 
struck  eleven,  he  rang  the  bell  of  the  house  in  Bernard 
Street,  only  to  learn  that  Doreen  was  out. 

"  Inquire  at  what  time  I  can  see  her,''  he  said  shortly, 
and  the  servant  returned  with  a  message  from  Mrs.  Garth. 
Doreen  was  expected  every  moment ;  she  hoped  Mr.  Here- 
ford could  come  in  and  wait.  So  he  went  in  and  waited 
alone  in  the  drawing-room,  chafing  impatiently  at  the  delay. 
The  room  faced  south,  and  in  spite  of  open  windows  it  was 
intensely  hot;  the  smell  of  mignonette  from  the  balcony 
made  him  feel  sick.  He  paced  restlessly  about,  looking  at 
two  or  three  of  the  wedding  presents  which  Doreen  had 
received,  turning  over  the  songs  which  lay  on  the  piano, 
finally  picking  up  John  Mitchel's  "  Jail  Journal "  from  the 
table,  and  reading  fitfully  a  few  lines  here  and  there. 
There  were  pencil  marks  in  the  margin,  and  he  knew  that 
they  were  Doreen's.  He  read  first  one  marked  passage, 
then  another.  The  first  occurred  just  when  Mitchel  had 
received  a  sentence  of  transportation  for  fourteen  years, 
and  was  about  to  leave  Ireland  :  — 

"No  doubt  he  thought  me  an  amazingly  cool  character, 
but  God  knoweth  the  heart.  There  was  a  huge  lump  in 
my  throat  all  the  time  of  this  bald  chat.  ...  At  Claremont 
Bridge,  in  Dublin,  this  evening  there  is  a  desolate  house,  — 
my  mother  and  sisters,  who  came  up  to  town  to  see  me 
*for  the  last  time  in  case  of  the  worst,'  —  five  little  children, 
very  dear  to  me;  none  of  them  old  enough  to  understand 
the  cruel  blow  that  has  fallen  on  them  this  day,  and  above 
all  —  above  all  — my  wife.  What  will  they  do?  What  is 
to  become  of  them  ?  By  this  time,  undoubtedly,  my  ofiice, 
my  newspaper,  types,  books,  all  that  I  had,  are  seized  on 
by  the  government  burglars.  ...  And  did  I  not  know  all 
this  ?  And  knowing  it,  did  I  not  run  all  the  risk  ?  Yes, 
and  I  did  well.  The  possible  sacrifice,  indeed,  was  terrible, 
but  the  enterprise  was  great  and  was  needful.'^ 


DOREEISr  305 

"  But  be  my  prison  where  it  will,  I  suppose  there  is  a 
heaven  above  that  place." 

"  We  must,  in  short,  make  final  protest  against  this  same 
law, — deny  that  it  is  lawj  deny  that  there  is  any  power  in 
the  London  Parliament  to  make  laws  for  us,  and  declare 
that  as  a  just  God  ruleth  in  the  earth,  we  will  obey  such 
laws  no  longer." 

Max  moved  to  the  window  and  looked  out ;  there  were  no 
signs  yet  of  Doreen.  At  the  further  end  of  the  street  he 
could  see  the  trees  in  Russell  Square,  looking  temptingly 
green  and  cool.  With  an  impatient  sigh  he  threw  himself 
back  in  a  chair,  and  turned  over  the  pages  till  he  came  to 
the  description  of  John  Mitchel's  first  introduction  to  the 
hulks  at  Bermuda. 

"In  the  very  centre  of  the  ship,  opening  from  a  dark 
passage,  appeared  a  sort  of  cavern,  just  a  little  higher  and  a 
little  wider  than  a  dog-house.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  very  hole 
through  which  the  main  mast  formerly  ran  down  into  the 
ship,  and  would  be  quite  dark  but  for  two  very  small  and 
dim  bull's-eyes  that  are  set  into  the  deck  above.  I  cannot 
stand  quite  erect  under  the  great  beams,  but  half  of  my  floor 
is  raised  nine  inches,  and  on  that  part  I  cannot  stand  at  all. 
The  whole  area  is  about  six  feet  square.  'Here's  your 
place,'  said  the  mate. 

********* 

"  A  hammock  was  brought  into  my  dog-hutch,  and  in  order 
to  make  room  for  it,  they  had  to  swing  it  diagonally.  A 
cup  of  milkless  tea  and  a  lump  of  bread  were  then  brought 
to  me,  and  when  I  had  despatched  these,  a  piece  of  candle 
was  left  upon  a  narrow  board  or  shelf,  and  my  door  was 
locked.  The  light  of  the  caudle  showed  me  a  great  many 
big  brown  cockroaches  nearly  two  inches  long,  running  with 
incredible  speed  over  the  walls  and  floor,  the  sight  of  which 
almost  turned  me  sick.  I  sat  down  upon  my  bench  and 
deliberately  reviewed  my  position.  They  have  not  taken 
my  books  from  me  nor  my  portmanteau.  They  have  not 
taken  this  scribbling  book  away,  nor  put  me  in  company 


3o6  DOREEN- 

with  the  convicts.  As  for  my  dog-hutch,  the  mate  muttered 
something,  before  he  left  me,  about  another  and  a  better 
place  being  made  ready  for  me  in  a  few  days.  And  for 
these  huge  brown  beasts  crawling  here,  I  presume  they 
don't  bite ;  other  people  sleep  among  them,  and  why  not  I  ? 
.  .  .  Here  goes  then  for  my  first  swing  in  a  hammock,  and 
I  feel  myself  a  freer  man  to-night  than  any  Irishman  living 
at  large,  tranquilly  in  his  native  land,  making  believe  that 
he  feels  himself  a  respectable  member  of  society. 

^^  I  do  whatever  I  am  bidden  at  once,  and  without  remark, 
which  seems  to  surprise  my  keepers  a  little.  They  did  not 
expect  me  to  be  so  quiet ;  ascribing  my  conduct  in  Ireland, 
of  course,  to  mere  turbulence  of  disposition,  and  general 
insubordination  of  character." 

Max  had  become  interested  in  spite  of  himself,  so  much 
interested  that  he  had  not  heard  Doreen's  return ;  it  was 
not  till  she  actually  came  into  the  room  that  he  looked 
up.  Her  entrance  was  thoroughly  characteristic,  —  swift 
and  eager,  and  suggesting,  as  usual,  a  fresh,  invigorating 
breeze. 

"How  delightful  to  find  you  here  already!"  she  cried, 
utterly  disarming  him  for  a  moment  by  her  kiss  and  by  the 
gladness  of  her  greeting.  "  Why,  you  are  actually  reading 
John  Mitchel !  That  is  quite  right  and  proper,  for  you 
ought  to  take  a  special  interest  in  him.  Was  I  not  enacting 
John  Mitchel  heavily  ironed,  when  you  made  your  first  call 
on  us  long  ago?" 

"To  be  sure  you  were,"  said  Max,  smiling,  as  he  con- 
trasted that  memory  of  the  past  with  the  sweet  oval  face 
and  the  laughing  blue  eyes  which  confronted  him. 

At  that  moment  his  eye  happened  to  fall  upon  the  lovely 
hothouse  flowers  in  a  great  china  bowl  close  by ;  they  were 
evidently  just  released  from  a  bouquet,  and  there  had  hardly 
been  any  attempt  to  rearrange  them. 

"  Who  gave  you  those  ?  "  he  asked. 

"They  were  given  me  at  Terrier's  concert,  last  night," 


DOREEN  307 

she  said,  leaning  back  rather  wearily  in  a  chair  just  oppo- 
site him,  and  slowly  drawing  off  her  gloves,  and  tossing  her 
hat  on  to  the  sofa. 

"  I  thought  I  recognized  them,"  he  said  gravely. 

"  Were  you  there  ?  "  she  said,  in  surprise.  He  watched 
her  intently,  and  was  certain  that  he  saw  her  colour  rise  a 
little;  his  anger  increased  when  she  launched  out  into 
a  long  account  of  Una's  illness,  for  he  fancied  that  she  was 
trying  to  lead  him  away  from  a  dangerous  topic. 

"  I  have  had  the  greatest  difficulty,"  she  continued,  "  in 
persuading  Madame  De  Berg  to  let  me  have  the  poor  child 
here.  But  at  last,  by  Brian  Osmond's  help,  she  has  been 
brought  to  consent.  A  more  selfish,  hard-hearted  woman 
I  never  met." 

"Never  mind  Madame  De  Berg's  character,"  said  Max, 
with  some  impatience.  "There  is  much  that  I  want  you 
to  explain  to  me.  What  had  you  done  with  Mrs.  Much- 
more  last  night  ?  " 

"I  sent  her  home  with  Una,"  said  Doreen;  "the  poor 
child  was  almost  fainting,  and  we  had  undertaken  to  see 
her  safely  home.  I  could  not,  of  course,  keep  her  till  my 
work  was  done.  My  song  was  the  last  but  one  on  the 
programme." 

"  And  you  were  probably  not  sorry  to  be  without  Mrs. 
Muchmore  ?  "  said  Max. 

"  I  was  glad  that  she  should  be  with  Una." 

"  And  you  were  also  particularly  glad  to  be  alone,"  he 
said,  in  a  tone  which  stung  and  irritated  her.  She  made 
an  effort,  however,  to  control  her  rising  temper. 

"  Max,"  she  said,  crossing  over  to  him,  "  if  you  sit  facing 
me  like  that  and  examining  me  as  if  I  were  in  a  witness- 
box,  I  shall  certainly  get  cross.  Come,  dear,  it  is  much  too 
hot  to  quarrel.  Let  us  sit  in  our  usual  nook  on  the  ottoman. 
And  you  mustn't  be  of  the  opposite  opinion  to-day,  for  I 
am  so  tired  of  arguing,  and  Madame  De  Berg  rubs  one 
entirely  the  wrong  way." 

Her  appeal  touched  him  for  a  moment ;  he  put  his  arm 

v2 


3o8  DOREEISr 

round  her  tenderly,  as  they  moved  to  the  ottoman  and 
established  themselves  in  their  customary  place. 

"  I  will  not  argue,  darling,"  he  said ;  "  but  there  is  one 
thing  I  want  to  ask  you.  Years  ago  you  once  said  to  me, 
*  I  have  no  secrets  —  at  least,  none  from  you.'  Can  you  say 
that  still  ?  " 

He  felt  her  heart  throb  violently  as  he  spoke.  The 
colour  rose  to  her  face  in  a  sudden,  vivid  blush. 

"  Max,"  she  said  hesitatingly,  "  I  can't  say  that  now  — 
but  —  " 

He  interrupted  her. 

"  Don't  begin  to  make  excuses,"  he  said  angrily.  "  Just 
tell  me  the  plain  truth.  What  were  you  doing  last  night  ? 
I  saw  you  in  Piccadilly  Circus  with  those  flowers  pressed 
to  your  lips.  Who  gave  them  to  you,  and  what  were  you 
doing  ?  " 

Doreen,  in  spite  of  herself,  could  not  help  laughing. 

"  May  one  not  smell  a  rose  in  a  stifling  London  street?  " 
she  said.  "  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  was,  at  that  very  moment, 
thinking  about  you." 

The  tears  started  to  her  eyes;  she  began  to  see  that  a 
great  ordeal  lay  before  her. 

"  Who  gave  you  the  flowers  ?  "  said  Max,  once  more. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  Then  you  force  me  to  assume  that  they  were  given  you 
by  the  man  you  visited  immediately  after  the  concert. 
Doreen,  I  insist  on  knowing  the  truth.  What  took  you, 
between  eleven  and  twelve  at  night,  to  a  disreputable 
street  in  the  purlieus  of  Leicester  Square,  to  a  place  where 
no  woman  who  respected  herself   would  think  of  being 


seen 


?" 


He  was  standing  now,  confronting  her  once  more  in  that 
way  which  had  suggested  the  witness-box.  She  grew  deadly 
pale ;  but  the  words  "  I  insist "  had  roused  her  Keltic 
nature  into  angry  resistance.  A  Kelt  may  be  led,  but  never 
driven. 

"You  followed  me,  then!  "  she  exclaimed,  in  a  low  voice 


DOREEIS/  369 

in  which  there  were  strange  vibrations.  "You  followed 
me  like  a  spy  ?  " 

Had  she  then  risked  her  reputation  for  a  man  who  did 
not  trust  her,  —  a  man  who  stooped  to  the  most  petty- 
jealousy  ? 

"I  followed  you,"  said  Max,  "as  your  guardian  angel 
probably  followed  you." 

"  Don't  blaspheme  my  guardian  angel,"  she  cried.  "  If 
angels  can  weep,  I  am  sure  mine  wept  at  the  sight  of  your 
faithless  heart." 

He  shrank  a  little  at  these  words. 

"  I  followed  you  because  I  loved  you,"  he  said. 

"No,"  she  replied  quickly.  "Say  rather  because  you 
were  jealous  and  suspicious." 

A  gleam  of  hope  crossed  his  troubled  face. 

"  Doreen,"  he  cried,  "  perhaps  you  went  to  see  some  old 
political  friend  of  your  father's ;  that,  of  course,  would 
explain  all." 

"  I  did  not,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  swiftly  dashing  his 
hopes  to  the  ground. 

"  Then  who  was  the  man  that  I  myself  saw  in  the  dis- 
tance, when  he  put  you  into  the  hansom  ?  You  must  tell 
me,  Doreen.     I  have  a  right  to  know." 

"I  cannot  tell  you,  Max,"  she  said,  breaking  down  at 
last,  and  shedding  the  most  bitter  tears  of  her  life.  "  Oh, 
why  cannot  you  trust  me  ?  " 

He  turned  away,  and  paced  angrily  to  and  fro. 

"  She  has  been  false  to  me,"  he  thought.  "  And  now 
thinks  to  set  all  right  by  a  scene  and  a  few  tears.  But  I 
shall  insist  on  knowing  the  truth.  It  is  my  right,  my 
undoubted  right.  I  will  not  be  made  a  fool  of  in  this 
way." 

"Can't  you  see,"  he  said  indignantly,  "how  your  mere 
position  as  a  public  singer  made  such  conduct  doubly  rash, 
doubly  wrong?" 

Doreen  dried  her  eyes.  Her  grief  was  fast  changing  to 
wrath. 


3  to  DOREEN' 

"I  ■will  beg  you  to  leave  my  profession  alone/'  she  said 
angrily.  "  And  I  will  tell  you  this  :  not  one  man  in  all  the 
profession  would  have  been  so  distrustful  of  me  as  you  are. 
They  would  know  that  it  was  impossible  for  Doreen  O'Ryan 
to  compromise  herself.  Good  God !  "  she  continued,  as  her 
own  words  made  her  realize  a  little  what  his  distrust  meant, 
"  of  what  do  you  suspect  me  ?  Speak !  Of  what  do  you 
suspect  me?" 

All  at  once  she  had  broken  forth  into  one  of  those  storms 
of  violent  indignation  which,  in  the  Italian  and  Irish  tem- 
peraments, occur  with  such  appalling  suddenness  and  con- 
trast so  strangely  with  the  sunny  brightness,  the  unselfish 
courtesy,  usually  manifested. 

As  for  Max,  he  was  just  as  angry,  but  in  a  cold  fashion. 
His  voice  was  hard  and  cruel  as  he  replied  to  her  indignant 
question. 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  he  said,  "  that  any  jury  in  the  land 
would  acquit  a  woman  who  confessed  that  at  that  hour  and 
in  that  place  she  had  had  a  private  interview  with  a  man 
whose  name  she  refused  to  reveal  ?  " 

A  wave  of  burning  heat  seemed  to  scorch  Doreen's  whole 
frame. 

"  Am  I  to  put  you  on  a  par  with  a  British  jury  ?  "  she  cried. 
"  You,  to  whom  I  have  pledged  my  whole  life  ?  You,  who 
professed  to  love  me  ?  But  you  do  not  love  me.  What 
sort  of  marriage  would  ours  have  been,  do  you  think  ? 
Why,  a  mere  mockery,  if  your  faith  is  so  lightly  over- 
come." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Max,  hastily.  "  I  should  certainly 
expect  my  wife  to  be  more  careful  of  appearances.  I  might 
even  expect  her  to  treat  me  with  entire  confidence." 

"And  you  would  jealously  suspect  her  on  the  smallest 
provocation,"  said  Doreen.  "But  we  are  not  married,  and 
you  are  quite  at  liberty  to  go  if  you  like.  We  can  mutually 
consent  to  end  our  engagement." 

For  a  moment  her  vehement  words  startled  him,  but  he 
was  far  too  angry  to  realize  the  madness  of  acting  upon  a 


DOREEN'  311 

wrathful  impulse  in  the  heat  of  the  first  quarrel  that  had 
ever  arisen  between  them. 

"  Under  the  circumstances  we  had  certainly  better  do  so," 
he  said  icily. 

He  turned  away  without  attempting  any  sort  of  farewell ; 
and  Doreen,  after  the  first  wild  desire  to  call  him  back  as 
the  door  closed  behind  him,  sank  down  once  more  on  the 
ottoman,  trembling  from  head  to  foot.  She  had  spoken 
quite  truly  when  she  said  that  not  a  single  man  in  the  pro- 
fession would  have  dared  to  suspect  her ;  for  she  had  won 
for  herself,  by  virtue  of  her  absolute  purity,  her  transparent 
sincerity,  a  position  that  was  almost  unique.  She  knew 
perfectly  well  that  if  Ferrier  or  Sardoni  or  the  St.  Pierres 
had  seen  her,  they  would  have  known  that  her  errand  must 
be  for  the  sake  of  helping  some  one  in  distress ;  for  there  is, 
happily,  a  certain  sort  of  character  which  protects  its  owner 
from  some  suspicions  more  effectually  than  convent  walls. 
It  was  the  indignant  feeling  that  Max  of  all  men  ought  to 
have  known  this  that  had  moved  her  to  such  a  storm  of 
anger.  She  was  utterly  incapable  of  making  the  smallest 
allowance  for  him;  she  forgot  that  his  cold  manner  only 
meant  that  he,  too,  was  a  prey  to  that  same  distorting 
anger,  nor  did  she  in  the  least  imagine  that  he  was  physi- 
cally ill,  and  liable  to  take  a  morbid  view  even  of  the  merest 
trifle.  He  had  outraged  all  that  was  most  sacred  to  her, 
and  her  wrath  and  indignation  overpowered  every  other 
feeling;  it  drove  all  before  it,  making  her  for  the  time 
another  being. 

How  long  she  endured  this  hell  of  fury  and  hatred  she 
never  knew,  but  by  and  bye  the  door  opened,  and  in  trotted 
Mollie,  with  her  pinafore  full  of  buttercups. 

"  Only  think,  Doreen,"  cried  the  child,  running  up  to  her, 
"Bride  and  me  have  been  picking  all  these  flowers  in 
Signor  Donati's  garden,  and  the  new  baby  was  out  there,  — 
the  sweetest  little  baby  you  ever  did  see." 

"  Go  away ! "  cried  Doreen ;  "  I  can't  listen  now." 

The  child  looked  up  in  astonishment,  for  never  before 


3li  DOREEN- 

had  she  been  spoken  to  in  such  a  tone.  She  went  to  the 
other  end  of  the  room  and  began  to  arrange  her  buttercups 
in  bunches,  and  before  long  forgot  the  rebuff  and  sang  to 
herself  in  a  soft  little  voice,  — 

'*  So  as  I  grew  from  boy  to  man, 

I  bent  me  to  that  bidding  — 
My  spirit  of  each  selfish  plan 

And  cruel  passion  ridding; 
For  thus  I  hoped  some  day  to  aid  — 

Oh  can  such  hope  be  vain  ? 
When  my  dear  country  shall  be  made 

A  Nation  once  again." 

"  Don't  sing ! "  said  Doreen,  peremptorily ;  for  the  sweet 
voice,  and  Thomas  Davis'  noble  words,  and  the  thought  of 
Ireland's  needs,  all  tended  to  draw  her  back  to  love  and 
life,  while  her  outraged  heart  longed  to  stay  for  awhile  in 
the  deathly  stage  of  wrath  and  hatred. 

Mollie  was  instantly  silenced,  but  presently  she  came 
timidly  across  the  room  and  slipped  a  bunch  of  buttercups 
into  her  sister's  hand,  looking  up  wistfully,  through  wet 
eyelashes,  into  the  face  which  had  never  before  frowned 
upon  her. 

Beneath  that  wounded,  bewildered  look  Doreen's  pride 
broke  down.  She  caught  the  child  up  in  her  arms  and 
kissed  her. 

"  Don't  look  like  that,  Mollie  mavourneen,"  she  said.  "  I 
love  to  hear  your  voice.  You  shall  come  with  me  and  help 
me  to  make  Una's  room  ready.  Poor  Una  is  ill,  and  we 
must  nurse  her." 

"Will  she  like  some  flowers  ?  "  said  the  child. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  bring  the  flowers,"  said  Doreen,  "  and  let  us 
make  haste  and  prepare  for  her." 

With  relief  she  threw  herself  into  the  busy  preparations, 
and  Una's  arrival  in  the  afternoon  helped  her  to  banish 
other  thoughts,  though  still  her  cheeks  burned  with  that 
miserable  scorching  heat,  which  had  never  cooled  since  Max 
had  made  her  realize  his  lack  of  trust. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

**  The  love  that  fed  on  daily  kisses  dieth : 
The  love  kept  warm  by  nearness  lieth 
Wounded  and  wan : 

The  love  hope  nourished  bitter  tears  distils, 
And  faints  with  nought  to  feed  upon. 
Only  there  stirreth  very  deep  below 
The  hidden  beating  slow, 

And  the  blind  yearning,  and  the  long-drawn  breath 
Of  the  love  that  conquers  death." 

Jean  Ingelow. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Aunt  Garth  that  afternoon,  "  I  begin  to 
be  afraid  that  we  have  not  done  wisely  in  offering  to  house 
poor  little  Una.  You  look  to  me  tired  already.  In  such 
heat  as  this  I  am  really  a  little  anxious  for  you.  It  would 
be  a  serious  thing  if  you  were  to  knock  up  within  a  month 
of  your  marriage." 

Doreen's  colour  deepened. 

"You  need  not  be  afraid,  avintie,"  she  said.  "All  that 
is  at  an  end.  I  meant  to  have  told  you  before,  but  could 
not  speak  while  the  children  were  here.  Max  Hereford  and 
I  have  mutually  agreed  that  our  engagement  had  better  be 
ended." 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Garth,  in  great  consternation, 
"  after  all  this  time  have  you  allowed  a  lovers'  quarrel  to 
part  you  so  suddenly  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  explain  it  to  you,  auntie,  and  I  cannot  talk," 
said  Doreen,  desperately.  "To-night  I  have  to  sing  at 
Clinton  Cleve's  benefit.     I  must  save  up  for  that.     Please 

313 


314  DOREEN 

tell  Uncle  Garth  and  Michael  and  the  children,  and  let  no 
one  say  a  word  to  me  about  it.  It  is  all  over;  and  ten 
years  hence  we  shall  be  thankful,  I  suppose,  that  we  found 
out  our  mistake  in  time.  What  does  one  do  with  wedding 
presents  under  these  circumstances  ?  " 

She  went  away  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  perhaps 
fearing  lest  Aunt  Garth  should  again  refer  to  the  folly  of 
letting  a  lovers'  quarrel  end  the  betrothal.  But  it  was 
impossible  to  avoid  the  subject,  and  she  had  not  been  five 
minutes  in  the  artistes'  room  that  evening  when  Terrier 
approached  her  with  a  kindly  greeting. 

"  Well,  and  when  is  the  wedding  to  be  ?  "  he  asked. 

"When  Kelt  and  Saxon  learn  to  be  of  one  mind  in  a 
house,"  she  said.     "  Or,  in  other  words,  —  never." 

Terrier  raised  his  eyebrows.  Though  he  had  not  alto- 
gether approved  of  Doreen's  engagement,  this  unexpected 
news  gave  him  a  slight  shock.  "  You  have  quarrelled  ?  " 
he  said,  much  as  though  he  had  been  talking  to  his  own 
daughter. 

''  We  have  agreed  to  separate,"  said  Doreen,  a  vivid  blush 
suffusing  her  face,  "  and  you  will  be  a  very  good  friend  to 
me  if  you  will  make  it  generally  known." 

"  I  will  do  just  what  you  wish,"  he  said  kindly. 

"  Then  see  Freen  for  me,"  she  begged,  "  and  tell  him  that 
after  all,  I  shall  be  able  to  go  on  tour  this  autumn;  and 
please  make  people  understand  that  Mr.  Hereford  is  not  to 
blame,  that  we  have  mutually  agreed  to  end  our  engage- 
ment." 

"Very  well;  I  will  do  all  I  can  for  you;  here  comes 
the  Norseman  to  summon  you.  What  are  you  singing 
to-night  ?  " 

"This,  by  way  of  mockery,"  she  said,  with  a  slight 
quiver  in  her  voice,  which  did  not  escape  Terrier's  notice. 
"  It  was  down  in  the  programme." 

The  song  was  Blumenthal's  "  Love,  the  Pilgrim." 

"  You  had  better  substitute  something  else,"  said  Terrier, 
fearing  lest  she  should  break  down. 


DOREEN  315 

"  No,  that  I  will  not,"  she  said  resolutely ;  "  you  mustn't 
tempt  me  to  be  a  coward.  Don't  you  know  that  a  soprano 
is  bound  to  sing  about  love,  as  much  as  a  baritone  is  bound 
to  sing  about  the  sea  ?  " 

With  a  little  laugh  that  made  Ferrier's  heart  ache,  she 
picked  up  the  music  and  made  her  way  down  the  stairs, 
through  the  little  anteroom  and  up  to  the  platform,  paus- 
ing only  to  nod  her  greetings  as  she  passed  the  other  singers, 
and  glad  to  think  that  she  had  deputed  some  one  else  to  tell 
them  the  news.  Terrier  managed  the  task  discreetly  enough, 
and  then  stood  listening  to  the  close  of  her  song,  with  its 
pathetic  repetitions  of  "  Love  is  passing ! " 

"It  is  all  very  well  for  her  to  say  herj^anc^  is  not  to  be 
blamed,"  he  reflected,  gnawing  the  ends  of  his  moustache 
savagely ;  "  the  man  must  be  a  fool  to  let  such  a  prize  as 
Doreen  slip  from  him,  and  he  must  be  a  brute  to  give  her 
so  much  suffering.     I  could  horsewhip  him  with  pleasure  ! " 

When  the  concert  was  over,  Doreen  drove  home,  wonder- 
ing to  find  herself  so  little  tired.  In  truth,  she  was  as  yet 
too  much  excited  to  be  conscious  of  the  great  strain  to  which 
she  had  been  subjected.  She  had  sung  better  that  night 
than  she  had  ever  sung  in  her  life  before,  and  something  of 
the  triumph  of  success  lingered  still  with  her,  buoying  her 
up  strangely,  half  leading  her  to  think  that  her  artist  life 
in  itself  was  enough  to  satisfy  her.  She  was  glad  to  be 
alone ;  for  Mrs.  Muchmore  had  been  obliged  to  stay  with 
Una,  as  no  sick-nurse  could  be  had  until  the  following  day. 
It  had  been  arranged  that  Doreen  should  sit  up  for  part  of 
the  night  with  the  child ;  and  having  made  a  hasty  supper, 
she  bade  good-night  to  her  uncle  and  aunt,  and  went  out  into 
the  hall,  where  Michael  was  lighting  her  candle. 

"  Here  is  something  for  you,"  he  said,  producing  a  packet 
from  a  particularly  obscure  corner,  where  he  had  of  purpose 
stowed  it  away,  determined  that  Doreen  should  have  her 
supper  in  peace.  She  glanced  at  it,  saw  that  the  direction 
was  in  her  lover's  handwriting,  and  knew  in  an  instant  that 
it  contained  her  own  letters,  and  that  Michael  had  guessed 


3i6  DOREEN 

as  much,  and  had,  with  his  usual  tact,  kept  it  well  in  the 
background. 

"Good  night,  dear  lad,'^  she  said;  "don't  worry  about 
me.  It  is  all  right.  '  Least  said  soonest  mended '  applies  to 
hearts,  you  know."  She  smiled,  but  it  was  one  of  those  for- 
lorn smiles  that  are  sadder  than  tears,  and  Michael  turned 
away,  reflecting  even  more  wrathfully  than  Terrier  had 
done,  that  Max  Hereford  was  clearly  to  blame. 

"  He  is  in  a  great  hurry  to  get  the  whole  thing  wound 
up.  He  is  glad  to  be  free,"  thought  Doreen,  angrily.  "  He 
doesn't  care  how  much  he  makes  me  suffer! " 

Her  mind  was  so  full  of  this  crisis  in  her  own  life  that 
for  the  moment  all  else  was  forgotten,  and  it  was  with  a 
shock  of  surprise  that,  on  opening  her  door,  she  found  her- 
self in  a  dimly  lighted  room,  and  heard  a  pitiful,  moaning 
little  voice  from  the  bed. 

"How  can  I  go  to  sleep  till  Doreen  comes?  No  one 
else  understands  " ;  then  catching  sight  -of  the  face  she  had 
been  hungering  for,  Una  gave  a  cry  of  joy. 

"  And  now  perhaps  you  will  settle  off,"  said  Mrs.  Much- 
more.  "  She  has  been  fretting  sadly  for  you.  Miss  Doreen ; 
I  guess  she's  kinder  frightened  and  upset  like.  I'll  come 
in  again  to  you  at  six  o'clock,  and  if  you  want  anything  in 
the  night,  you  will  be  sure  and  call  me." 

And  having  left  Doreen  comfortably  installed  in  the 
sick-room,  Hagar  Muchmore  went  to  bed  with  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"  Guess  I  feel  more  tired  than  I  should  'a  done  with  a 
whole  day's  scrubbing,"  she  reflected.  "What  with  that 
child's  ideas  that  there  was  spirits  in  the  room  and  burg- 
lars in  the  cupboard,  and  that  she  was  goin'  to  die  every 
other  moment,  'twas  enough  to  turn  one's  brain.  But  I 
reckon  Miss  Doreen,  who  has  got  an  accommodating  way 
with  her,  will  understand  that  infant  prodigy  better  than  a 
plain  New  England  woman  can  do." 

The  sight  of  the  little,  shadowy  face  on  the  pillow,  and 
the  clasp  of  the  hands  that  felt  like  little  live  coals,  had 


DOREEN  317 

utterly  banished  from  Doreen's  mind  all  thought  of  her 
own  trouble ;  her  sweet,  soft  voice  seemed  to  act  upon  Una 
like  magic,  and  she  had,  as  Mrs.  Muchmore  said,  a  most 
accommodating  way  with  her.  She  seemed  to  assume  that 
to  be  ill  was  at  that  time  the  best  thing  in  the  world 
for  Una.  There  was  an  air  of  matter-of-fact  ease  about 
her  very  movements  which  was  most  refreshing.  Una 
watched  in  dreamy  content  as  she  laid  aside  her  pale  pink 
silk  dress  and  donned  a  cool  white  dressing-gown,  thinking 
how  different  this  was  to  Madame  De  Berg^s  scolding  fiis- 
siness,  and  Hagar  Muchmore's  well-meant  but  distressing 
anxiety  and  perpetual  questions. 

"  I  don't  feel  afraid  now  you  have  come,"  she  said.  "  I 
think  I  should  not  be  so  very  much  afraid  even  to  die,  if 
you  were  here." 

Doreen  came  and  sat  beside  the  bed,  softly  stroking  the 
slender  hand  with  its  long,  skilful  fingers  which  had  known 
so  little  rest. 

"  There  is  One  who  loves  you  much  better  than  I  do,  and 
who  is  never  obliged  to  ga  away,"  she  said. 

"  I  am  afraid  He  is  angry  with  me  for  not  loving  Him 
much." 

"Sorry,  perhaps,  but  not  angry  any  more  than  your 
father  or  mother  would  have  been.  His  love  for  you  is 
not  measured  by  yours  to  Him,  —  and  nothing  can  alter  it." 

"  I  wish  you  would  light  your  little  lamp  under  the  cru- 
cifix," said  Una.  "  I  have  never  seen  it  lighted,  and  you 
said  you  burnt  it  every  night." 

Doreen  crossed  the  room;  her  hands  trembled  a  little 
when  she  lit  the  lamp,  as  she  had  done  every  night  for  the 
last  eleven  years.  Her  own  words  rang  persistently  in  her 
mind  :  "  Nothing  can  alter  it  —  nothing  can  alter  it."  Had 
she  not  truly  told  Una  that  love  —  ideal  love  —  might  be 
grieved,  but  never  angry  with  personal  anger  ?  Out  of  her 
own  mouth  she  now  stood  condemned. 

"  Does  the  light  shine  in  your  eyes  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No  J  it  just  lights  up  the  cross^  and  I  like  to  see  that," 


3i8  DOREEN 

said  Una.  "  I  like  to  think  that  the  evil  spirits  ha,te  the 
sight  of  the  cross  and  stop  their  ears  when  they  hear  the 
church  bells,  like  Mephistopheles  in  Faust.  But  I  can't  at 
all  understand  why  Christ  died,  and  all  the  sermons  seem  to 
make  it  more  complicated." 

"You  can  understand  the  verse  about  ^God  so  loved 
the  world/  and  that  is  better  than  all  the  sermons,"  said 
Doreen.  "And  now  I  want  you  to  sleep,  and  not  to  talk 
any  more.  Lie  quite  still,  and  I  will  say  you  some  of  St. 
Patrick's  hymn,  which  the  Irish  people  have  said  at  bed- 
time for  more  than  a  thousand  years." 

Una  lay  peacefully  watching  the  crucifix  on  the  opposite 
wall,  while  Doreen's  hand  softly  stroked  her  tired  head, 
and  the  clear,  mellow  voice  she  loved  so  well  repeated  the 
old  Irish  invocation,  —  more  beautiful  in  its  grand  simplicity 
than  prayers  of  a  later  date. 

"  '  I  bind  to  myself  to-day  the  Power  of  God  to  guide  me, 
the  Might  of  God  to  uphold  me,  the  Wisdom  of  God  to 
teach  me,  the  Eye  of  God  to  watch  over  me,  the  Ear  of  God 
to  hear  me,  the  Word  of  God  to  give  me  speech,  the  Hand 
of  God  to  protect  me,  the  Way  of  God  to  prevent  me,  the 
Shield  of  God  to  shelter  me,  the  Host  of  God  to  defend 
me. 

"  ^  Against  the  snares  of  demons,  against  the  temptation 
of  vices,  against  the  lusts  of  nature,  against  every  man  who 
meditates  injury  to  me,  whether  far  or  near,  with  few 
or  with  many.  Christ  protect  me  to-day.  Christ  with 
me,  Christ  before  me,  Christ  behind  me,  Christ  within  me, 
Christ  beneath  me,  Christ  above  me,  Christ  at  my  right, 
Christ  at  ray  left.  Christ  in  the  heart  of  every  man  who 
thinks  of  me.  Christ  in  the  mouth  of  every  man  who 
speaks  to  me.  Christ  in  every  eye  that  sees  me.  Christ 
in  every  ear  that  hears  me. 

"  ^  I  bind  to  myself  to-day  the  strong  power  of  an  invoca- 
tion of  the  Trinity,  the  Faith  of  the  Trinity  in  Unity,  the 
Creator  of  the  Elements.'  " 

By  and  bye,  when  the  tired  child  was  sleeping  soundly, 


DOREEN-  319 

Doreen  stole  quietly  across  the  room  and  sat  down  beside 
the  little  lamp,  and  unfastened  the  packet  which  Max  had 
directed  to  her.  Her  anger  with  him  had  all  died  away. 
It  was  impossible  to  be  angry  in  the  solemn  stillness  of  the 
night.  She  had  soothed  herself  as  well  as  Una  by  the 
grand  old  words  of  St.  Patrick.  Had  Max  been  in  the  house, 
she  would  have  gone  to  him,  and  frankly  confessed  that  she 
regretted  her  angry  words,  and  her  impulsive  suggestion 
that  they  should  part,  and  a  hope  darted  through  her  mind 
that  he,  too,  might  have  become  conscious  of  the  great 
wrong  he  had  done  her  by  his  faithlessness.  Surely  the 
packet  would  contain  some  letter  from  him  ?  But  no ; 
there  was  absolutely  nothing,  save  her  own'  letters,  a  ring, 
a  pencil-case,  and  a  little  book  of  Irish  love-songs,  which 
she  had  given  him.  She  sat  looking  at  them  in  a  dazed 
way,  slowly  realizing  what  it  is  to  be  taken  "  at  our  own 
rash  word."  Then  she  glanced  at  one  letter  after  another. 
They  were  chiefly  written  during  her  American  tour.  She 
read  a  sentence  here  and  there.  Her  mind  went  back  to 
those  weary  months  when  she  had  been  parted  from  him. 
She  remembered  the  desolate,  hurrying  life,  the  eager  count- 
ing of  the  days  until  their  reunion,  the  relief  it  had  been  to 
open  her  whole  heart  to  him  in  these  letters  as  they  trav- 
elled wearily  on  through  the  States. 

And  now  she  had  cut  herself  off  from  it  all ! 

A  sort  of  terror  crept  over  her.  What  frightful  mistake 
had  she  been  betrayed  into  by  her  impulsive  nature  ?  Had 
she  ruined  not  only  her  own  life,  but  his  ?  And  all,  as 
Aunt  Garth  said,  for  the  sake  of  a  lovers'  quarrel, — the 
first  that  had  ever  risen  between  them  ?  Her  eye  fell  on  a 
sentence  in  one  of  her  letters,  which  seemed  to  stab  her  to 
the  heart :  — 

<'  I  like  you  to  say  that  it  is  through  me  that  you  under- 
stand the  Irish  problem.  To  think  that  in  any  way  I  can 
help  you  to  work  for  Ireland  makes  me  more  proud  and 
happy  than  all  the  applause  I  have  had  in  my  whole  career. 
The  interviewers  torment  me  terribly,  but  I  comfort  myself 


320  DOREEN 

by  thinking  that  when  once  we  are  married,  I  will  have  no 
more  of  them.  We  shall  no  longer  be  working  as  wretched 
units,  but  together,  and  I  will  be  — 

"Faithful  to  Ireland,  to  God,  and  to  you." 

"  0  God ! "  she  cried  in  her  heart,  "  what  am  I  to  do  ? 
What  can  I  do  ?  For  his  sake  I  cannot  tell  him  the  truth, 
and  I  have  sworn  to  keep  silence.  I  can't  prove  my  inno- 
cence, and  there  is  no  means  of  tracing  John  Desmond.  If 
I  saw  Max,  I  could  only  tell  him  that  I  was  sorry  for  losing 
my  temper.  And  he  did  wrong  me  most  cruelly ;  he  dis- 
trusted my  very  honour !  It  is  he  who  should  seek  first  to 
be  reconciled.  No,  I  won't  write  to  him.  I  can't.  It  was 
his  fault,  and  I  had  tried  to  serve  him  —  had  risked  much 
for  him.  He  ought  to  have  guessed — an  Irishman  would 
have  had  the  wit  to  guess  in  a  moment.  I  suppose  I  must 
send  him  back  his  letters,  and  this  — "  She  slowly  drew 
off  her  betrothal  ring.  "And  yet  what  a  farce  it  is !  the 
outward  sign  may  go ;  but  just  as  long  as  he  is  in  the  world 
am  I  not,  after  all,  in  heart  betrothed  to  him?  People 
who  have  been  genuinely  mistaken,  and  made  a  wrong 
choice,  can  surely  never  feel  like  this  when  they  break  their 
engagement.  Why,  the  mere  thought  of  being  betrothed 
to  any  other  man  while  Max  is  in  the  world  is  intolerable. 
I  love  him.  Nothing  can  alter  that;  but  he  must  first 
come  to  me  to  apologize." 

A  breath  of  cool  night  air  stole  in  just  then  through  the 
open  window;  the  lamp  beneath  the  crucifix  flickered  a 
little.  Doreen  glanced  up.  Through  many  times  of  fear 
and  anxiety,  through  the  age-long  hours  of  bereavement 
and  grief,  through  perilous  hours  of  artistic  success  and  the 
world's  praise,  she  had  looked,  as  she  looked  now,  at  Max 
Hereford's  first  gift  to  her.  With  all  the  fervour  and  devo- 
tion of  her  Irish  nature,  she  believed  in  the  victory  of  the 
cross ;  and  yet  here  she  was,  hotly  declaring  in  her  indigna- 
tion :  "  He  must  first  come  to  me  and  apologize." 

Was  this  a  true  thing  that  she  had  said  ?    Was  it  right 


DOREErr  321 

that  she  should  wait  in  offended  silence  until  he  sought  to 
be  reconciled?  Was  she  to  maintain  her  attitude  of  in- 
jured innocence,  and  allow  their  lives  to  be  shipwrecked  for 
the  lack  of  a  word  she  was  too  proud  and  indignant  to 
speak?  If  it  were  indeed  right  for  the  wronged  one  to 
wait  in  absolute  silence  for  the  return  of  the  injurer,  why- 
then  the  whole  foundation  of  Christianity  was  gone,  and 
there  was  no  such  thing  as  divine  forgiveness,  no  call  to 
imitate  it,  —  in  which  case  she  must  range  herself  as  a  fol- 
lower of  the  world's  wisdom,  and  no  longer  delude  herself 
with  the  idea  that  she  was  a  follower  of  Christ. 

When  Doreen  had  once  clearly  seen  the  light,  she  was 
always  ready  to  follow  it ;  yet  the  following  now  was  hard. 
The  night  passed  on,  and  still  she  lay  back  in  her  chair, 
rigidly  still  for  the  sake  of  the  sick  child,  but  inwardly 
fighting  a  desperate  battle,  her  love  struggling  with  her 
pride,  her  heart  torn  by  the  strife. 

The  room  was  absolutely  quiet ;  Una  scarcely  stirred ;  a 
faint  gray  light  began  to  show  itself  round  the  edges  of 
the  window  blinds ;  the  lamp  beneath  the  cross  still  burned 
brightly.  Presently  the  first  sparrow  wakened  and  began 
to  chirp;  then,  after  an  interval,  a  second  answered,  until 
gradually,  all  the  bird  life  of  the  neighbourhood  roused 
itself  for  the  work  and  praise  of  another  day,  and  the  gray 
sky  changed  to  rosy  dawn. 

Again  there  rang  through  Doreen's  mind  the  familiar 
words :  — 

"  I  bind  to  myself  to-day  the  Power  of  God  to  guide  me, 
the  Might  of  God  to  uphold  me,  the  Wisdom  of  God  to 
teach  me." 

And  a  sudden,  glad  realization  that  the  battle  she  had 
fought  so  long  was  not  too  hard  for  her,  that  she  had  all  the 
love  and  all  the  strength  in  the  universe  at  her  disposal,  if 
she  would  but  use  it,  to  kill  her  own  false  pride  and  selfish- 
ness, filled  her  with  a  rapturous  relief.  Covering  her  face 
with  her  hands,  she  prayed  with  her  whole  being. 

Then  she  softly  crossed  the  room  to  her  writing-table,  lit 


322  DOREEN 

a  candle  from  the  little  hanging  lamp,  shaded  it  carefully 
from  Una,  and  wrote  swiftly  the  following  letter :  — 

"My  Dear  Max  :  — I  have  received  your  packet,  and  return  your 
letters  and  presents  to  me.  All  this  can  be  done,  but  I  find  there  is 
much  that  I  cannot  do.  I  cannot  cease  to  love  you,  or  to  believe  that 
we  still  belong  to  each  other.  Max,  I  was  wrong  —  very  wrong — 
yesterday.  I  must  have  said  many  things  in  anger  that  never  ought 
to  have  been  said.  Forgive  me  if  you  can.  If  I  had  been  more  patient, 
perhaps  I  could  have  made  you  understand  how  possible  it  often  is  to 
be  deceived  by  appearances.  I  could  not  have  explained  the  reason 
of  my  visit  to  that  Caf 6,  I  could  not  have  told  you  the  name  of  the 
man  I  met  there,  because  for  the  sake  of  others  I  am  sworn  to  secrecy. 
But  surely,  surely  you  can  trust  me  ?  I  will  try  to  believe  that  you 
meant  the  harsh  things  you  said  yesterday  as  little  as  I  meant  what- 
ever I  said  in  that  storm  of  anger ;  my  blood  was  on  fire  ;  I  cannot 
tell  now  what  I  did  say.  If  I  had  seen  you  entering  a  disreputable 
place,  do  you  think  I  should  have  dreamt  that  you  went  with  any  evil 
purpose  ?  Why,  of  course  I  should  have  known  that  you  went  to 
serve  or  help  some  one  else.  You  ought  to  have  known  perfectly  well 
that  this  was  the  sole  reason  I  went. 

*'  I  was  the  one  who  in  anger  proposed  to  end  our  engagement,  but, 
Max,  when  you  believe  in  me  once  more,  then  come  back  and  let  us 
talk  things  over  quietly  ;  do  not  let  us  wreck  our  lives  in  this  miser- 
able dispute.  If  you  neither  come  nor  write,  I  will  understand  that 
your  faith  in  me  is  gone  past  recall. 

"DOREBN." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

**  Far,  far  from  each  other 
Our  spirits  have  grown  ; 
And  what  heart  knows  another  ? 
Ah,  who  knows  its  own  ?  "  • 

Matthew  Arnold. 

The  shock  of  his  interview  with  Doreen  had  startled  Max 
into  a  sort  of  unnatural  energy  ;  he  felt  that  he  must  plunge 
straight  into  hard  work  of  some  sort,  and  having  hastily- 
put  together  all  the  things  connected  with  his  betrothal, 
and  committed  to  the  post  that  packet  which  Doreen  had 
opened  late  in  the  evening  with  such  a  miserable  pang  of 
realization,  he  sought  out  a  certain  well-known  philanthro- 
pist who  was  usually  glad  to  secure  his  services. 

"  You  are  the  very  man  I  wanted,''  was  the  hearty  greet- 
ing he  received.  "  Here  is  a  telegram  just  arrived  to  say 
that  John  Whitaker  is  ill  and  unable  to  speak  to-morrow  at 
Manchester.     Can  you  possibly  go  down  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  nothing  better,"  said  Max. 

"  Perhaps  you  can  also  take  his  place  at  Brighton  on  Sat- 
urday," said  the  philanthropist,  who  never  lost  anything 
for  want  of  asking. 

Max  willingly  consented  to  step  into  the  breach,  and  go- 
ing home,  began  to  prepare  his  speeches.  It  was  not  until 
the  next  morning  that  he  wrote  to  General  Hereford  an- 
nouncing that  his  engagement  was  broken  off,  and  he  took 
good  care  that  the  letter  should  not  be  posted  till  he  had 
left  for  Manchester.     His  hansom  was  at  the  door,  and  he 

323  w2 


324  DOREEN 

was  actually  on  tlie  point  of  starting,  when  the  old  butler 
brought  in  the  packet  in  which  Doreen  had  placed  the 
jewels  he  had  given  her,  his  letters,  and  the  letter  which 
she  had  written  to  him  during  the  night  watches.  He  held 
it  for  a  moment  in  his  hand,  a  curious  pain  stirring  at  his 
heart  as  he  looked  at  the  well-known  writing ;  then,  with 
compressed  lips,  he  turned  back  into  his  study,  thrust  the 
packet,  unopened  as  it  was,  into  an  old  despatch  box  which 
he  seldom  used,  and  unlocking  the  safe  which  stood  in  a 
cunningly  contrived  cupboard  beneath  his  bookcase,  stowed 
away  the  box  with  the  reflection  that  he  had  done  his  duty 
in  securing  the  family  diamonds,  and  that  at  some  other 
time  he  could  destroy  his  letters.  The  excitement  of  the 
Manchester  meeting  did  him  good,  but  there  was  an  appall- 
ing dulness  about  London  when  he  returned.  The  solitude 
of  his  home  seemed  unbearable  to  him ;  he  even  welcomed 
a  visit  from  the  General. 

The  old  man  with  more  tact  than  usual  alluded  very 
slightly  to  Doreen ;  he  kept  his  overwhelming  satisfaction 
within  bounds,  and  sat  talking  in  an  easy,  pleasant  fashion 
of  family  matters,  and  of  Lady  Kachel's  hay  fever,  which 
had  necessitated  her  going  to  Brighton. 

"Miriam  and  I  go  down  to-morrow  to  join  her,"  he  ex- 
plained ;  "  why  shouldn't  you  come  with  us  ?  We  can  put 
you  up  there  well  enough.'' 

And  so  it  happened  that  on  Saturday,  Max  found  him- 
self vis-di-vis  with  his  cousin  in  the  far  corner  of  a  first- 
class  carriage  at  Victoria,  while  in  the  corner  near  the  door, 
the  General,  with  the  roseate  hue  of  the  "  Globe  "  reflected  on 
his  contented  face,  sat  reading  the  account  of  a  wedding  in 
high  life,  which  seemed  to  afford  him  the  keenest  satisfac- 
tion. The  train  was  signalled  to  start,  when  some  one  came 
running  up  the  platform ;  the  guard  flung  open  the  carriage 
door,  and,  to  the  amazement  of  the  travellers,  helped  in 
Doreen  as  the  wheels  began  to  move. 

"Pay  at  the  other  end,  miss,"  cried  the  guard,  and  Doreen 
sank  breathless  into  the  seat  opposite  the  General.     Then 


DOREEN'  325 

came  the  dreadful  moment  when  she  suddenly  realized  that 
the  man  who  had  formally  raised  his  hat  to  her,  in  the  far 
comer,  was  Max;  the  General  greeted  her  in  his  usual 
fashion. 

"Never  run  for  a  train,  Miss  O'liyan,"  he  said  in  his 
patronizing  manner;  "it  is  the  surest  way  you  can  take  to 
shorten  your  life." 

"  I  have  an  afternoon  concert  at  Brighton,"  she  said,  feel- 
ing as  if  every  word  she  spoke  must  choke  her,  and  remem- 
bering, with  a  horrible  pang,  that  this  train  did  not  even  stop 
at  Croydon,  that  there  was  no  release  for  her  for  a  whole 
hour.  Miriam,  taking  pity  on  her  burning  cheeks,  moved 
to  the  vacant  place  beside  her,  and  shook  hands  with  her 
pleasantly. 

"  I  am  quite  sure  it  was  those  children  that  delayed  you," 
she  said,  laughing. 

"No,"  said  Doreen,  with  a  bewildered  feeling  that  she 
must  learn  to  adapt  herself  to  a  new  order  of  things,  in 
which  Miriam  would  be  her  kindly  shield  and  helper,  and 
Max  her  foe.  "  It  was  poor  little  Una  Kingston.  She  is 
lying  very  ill  at  our  house  and  was  so  much  worse  this 
morning,  that  I  was  in  doubt  whether  I  could  leave  her ; 
but  they  seem  to  think  her  out  of  danger  for  the  present. 
I  shall  try  to  catch  the  five  o'clock  train  back." 

"I  believe  you  have  been  up  all  night  with  her,"  said 
Miriam,  glancing  curiously  into  the  girl's  careworn  face. 

"  Only  since  three  o'clock.  The  sick-nurse  called  me 
then,  thinking  that  she  was  dying.  Perhaps,  after  all,  that 
would  be  the  happiest  thing  for  her ;  she  is  so  utterly  alone 
in  the  world,  poor  child,  that  one  dreads  the  future  for 
her." 

"  Why  do  you  not  get  a  sleep  ?  "  said  Miriam ;  "  I  will 
wake  you  before  we  get  to  Brighton." 

Doreen  blessed  her  inwardly  for  the  suggestion,  feeling 
that  to  lean  back  with  closed  eyes  in  her  corner,  was  the 
only  tolerable  way  of  getting  through  this  dreadful  hour. 
As  for  Max,  he  remained  to  all  appearance  absorbed  in  his 


326  DOREEN- 

"  Daily  News  "  until  they  were  close  to  Preston  Park,  then 
he  gave  one  swift  glance  at  Doreen,  and  at  sight  of  her  sad, 
weary  face,  a  pang  shot  through  his  heart,  and  her  own 
words  about  Una  returned  to  him,  "  One  dreads  the  future 
for  her." 

As  the  train  stopped  at  the  Brighton  station,  there  were 
hasty  general  farewells,  and  Doreen  swiftly  disappeared  in 
search  of  her  luggage ;  Max,  following  in  the  same  direc- 
tion a  moment  later  with  the  General,  suddenly  perceived 
the  ever-persistent  Mr.  Hawke  hovering  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  crowd  round  the  luggage  van,  with  the  evident  intention 
of  addressing  Doreen  who,  as  yet  unconscious  of  her  perse- 
cutor's presence,  was  giving  directions  to  a  porter.  Affected, 
however,  at  last  by  his  persistent  stare,  she  glanced  round, 
visibly  annoyed  and  disconcerted  when  she  saw  the  predica- 
ment she  was  in.  Raising  his  hat,  Mr.  Hawke  approached 
her  with  smiling  deference ;  but  Doreen,  ignoring  him  alto- 
gether, walked  deliberately  up  to  Max  Hereford. 

"  Will  you  get  a  fly  for  me,  please  ?  "  she  said,  as  though 
they  still  belonged  to  each  other ;  and  together  they  walked 
down  the  platform,  to  the  great  chagrin  of  the  baffled 
Hawke. 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  been  obliged  to  trouble  you,"  she 
said  falteringly.  "  It  is  the  first  time  that  wretched  man 
has  tormented  me  out  of  London.  I  never  dreamt  of  hav- 
ing trouble  elsewhere.  When  once  I  am  out  of  the  station, 
it  will  be  all  right.  My  friend,  Mrs.  Moore,  is  staying  here, 
and  she  will  go  with  me  to  the  concert." 

Max,  who  had  been  curiously  pleased  by  the  fearless  way 
in  which  she  had  claimed  his  protection  as  her  right,  was, 
nevertheless,  uncomfortably  conscious  of  the  awkwardness 
of  their  present  situation.  He  was  perfectly  courteous,  but 
his  answers  were  monosyllabic,  and  his  nervousness  made 
them  sound  cold  and  distant.  His  politeness  was  a  degree 
less  genial  than  it  would  have  been  to  a  casual  acquaintance. 
Poor  Doreen  talked  bravely  on;  no  stiff  English  self-con- 
sciousness shackled  her  tongue,  but  she  could  very  truly 


DOREEN-  327 

have  echoed  the  words  of  John  Mitchel:  "There  was  a 
huge  lump  in  my  throat  all  the  time  of  this  bald  chat." 

She  talked  of  Una,  of  Brian  Osmond's  last  report,  of  the 
changes  in  the  Brighton  station,  of  the  captur^  of  a  certain 
murderer,  and  of  the  latest  bulletin  about  the  President  of 
the  United  States.  But  all  the  time  she  was  thinking  —  "  It 
was  on  Thursday  morning  that  he  had  my  letter;  he  might 
have  come  to  see  me ;  he  might  have  written ;  his  faith  in 
me  is  gone  —  quite  gone." 

At  this  moment  the  porter  came  up  with  the  valise  con- 
taining her  concert  dress.  Max  held  out  his  hand  in  fare- 
well. 

"  They  gave  you  my  packet  that  Mrs.  Muchmore  left  at 
your  house?"  she  asked,  a  vivid  blush  dyeing  her  pale 
cheeks. 

"  Yes,  thank  you ;  I  received  it  all  right,"  said  Max, 
stiffly.  "  Good-bye ! "  He  raised  his  hat,  gave  the  address 
to  the  driver,  and  turned  away. 

Doreen  wrung  her  hands.  The  parting  in  hot  anger 
had  been  nothing  compared  to  the  agony  of  this  calm,  de- 
liberate, parting  as  mere  acquaintances.  But  she  dared 
not  let  herself  break  down.  However  much  her  own  heart 
ached,  it  was  imperatively  necessary  that  in  an  hour's  time 
she  should  be  singing  ballads  before  a  critical  audience. 
Driving  down  West  Street,  she  received  the  one  gleam  of 
comfort,  however,  which  she  could  receive  that  day :  her 
eye  caught  the  announcement  of  a  meeting  at  the  Dome 
that  evening,  on  the  Better  Housmg  of  the  Poor,  and  be- 
neath it  the  words,  "Unavoidable  absence  of  Mr.  John 
Whitaker.     Address  by  Mr.  Max  Hereford." 

He  was  not  going  to  fall  back  into  the  listless  idleness 
which  she  knew  too  well  had  beset  him  during  her  absence 
in  America.  He  had  instantly  turned  to  work  as  a  refuge ; 
he  was  trying  to  redress  the  grievances  of  others.  Into  her 
mind  there  flashed  the  glad  remembrance  that  Max,  though 
no  paragon  of  perfection,  was  absolutely  honest  and  good ; 
that  his  suspicious  jealousy  sprang,  probably,  in  part,  from 


328  DOREE^t 

the  low  view  which  he,  in  common  with  most  of  his  class, 
held  of  the  musical  profession,  and  from  the  distorted  no- 
tion of  the  Irish  character  which  Englishmen,  after  oppress- 
ing Ireland  for  centuries,  inevitably  hold.  She  recollected 
how,  long  ago,  when  Miriam  had  asked  her  what  she  re- 
garded as  the  essentials  for  a  husband,  she  had  replied  that 
for  her  there  were  only  two  essentials  :  he  must  be  radically 
good,  and  a  good  Kadical.  And  with  desperate  resolution 
she  clung  to  this  thought  of  his  goodness  as  the  one  thing 
left  her.  The  light  sea-breeze  fanned  her  hot  cheeks  sooth- 
ingly; the  broad,  green  stretch  of  rippling  water,  as  it 
sparkled  in  the  sunshine,  seemed  to  fill  her  with  hope  and 
courage.  Max  had  failed  her,  but  she  felt  that  he  would 
not  fail  the  world, — the  world  that  waited  for  the  work 
which  his  pure  heart,  and  his  winning  persuasiveness,  and 
his  broad  sympathies  could  so  well  supply. 

How  far  the  faith  of  one  spirit  can  influence  another,  or 
in  what  subtle  manner  the  law  of  prayer  fulfils  itself,  no 
one  can  positively  say.  But  it  somehow  happened  that 
Max,  who  had  gone  down  to  Brighton  not  in  the  least 
knowing  what  his  next  step  should  be,  woke  on  the  Sunday 
morning  with  a  perfectly  clear  perception  that  he  must  go 
to  Ireland.  It  was  the  last  country  he  desired  to  go  to ;  he 
shuddered  at  the  thought  of  visiting  alone  the  places  he 
had  intended  to  visit  with  Doreen,  and  the  memory  of  their 
last  tour,  and  of  his  mother's  sudden  death,  made  him  shrink 
from  the  idea  of  revisiting  the  same  scenes.  And  yet  it 
was  borne  in  upon  him  that  his  work  lay  there,  and,  turn- 
ing a  deaf  ear  to  General  Hereford's  suggestions  of  a  sum- 
mer on  the  continent,  he  set  off  by  the  mail  train  on  Monday 
evening ;  and,  with  his  usual  ardour,  plunged  straight  into 
that  close  study  of  Irish  diflficulties  which  he  had  long 
talked  of  attempting.  Happily,  he  found  in  an  Irish  friend 
of  Donovan  Farrant's  a  guide  who  very  speedily  put  him  in 
touch:  with  the  life  of  the  people.  Moreover,  Dick  McGrlynn 
was  the  best  of  companions ;  the  ten  days  during  which  they 
worked  together  were  by  no  means  dull,  and,  for  the  time, 


DOREEN  329 

Max  held  his  trouble  at  arm's  length.  But  one  evening, 
after  speaking  at  McGlynn's  request  at  a  Land  League 
meeting,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Dublin,  he  suddenly  real- 
ized that  something  was  wrong  with  him.  As  they  got  out 
of  the  train  at  Harcourt  Street,  his  legs  seeified  to  double 
up  beneath  him,  and  he  would  have  fallen  headlong  down 
the  stairs  if  McGlynn  had  not  gripped  him  by  the  arm. 

"Are  you  faint?"  asked  his  companion.  "You  had 
better  drive  home." 

"No,  no,"  he  replied,  with  a  vivid  consciousness  that  the 
people  passing  by  thought  him  drunk.  "  That  place  was  hot 
enough  to  upset  one.  I  shall  be  all  right ;  it  is  only  a  few 
minutes'  walk." 

But  it  seemed  the  longest  ten  minutes  of  his  life.  Along 
the  dreary  length  of  Harcourt  Street,  past  the  little  house 
in  which  Doreen  had  spent  her  childhood,  along  two  of  the 
sides  of  Stephen's  Green,  until  at  last  the  friendly  portals 
of  the  Shelbourne  were  reached.  He  dragged  himself  across 
the  entrance-hall  to  the  lift,  and  bade  McGlynn  good-night. 

"Good  Heavens,  my  dear  fellow!"  said  the  Irishman. 
"  Your  hand  is  on  fire ;  I  believe  you  are  in  a  raging  fever. 
Well,  I  shall  look  you  up  to-morrow,  and,  after  all,  it  may 
only  be  this  confounded  heat  that  has  knocked  you  up." 

But  the  next  morning  Max  found  himself  in  the  doctor's 
hands,  fast  bound  with  an  attack  of  rheumatic  fever,  for- 
bidden to  move  hand  or  foot,  not  even  allowed  to  feed  him- 
self, and  with  the  prospect  of  a  long  illness  before  him. 
Shut  up  for  the  whole  of  that  summer  in  one  of  the  large, 
airy  rooms-  at  the  Shelbourne,  he  endured  with  much  forti- 
tude and  patience  the  weary  tedium  of  the  long  days  and 
the  dreary  nights.  His  somewhat  taciturn  red-cross  nurse 
wrote  letters  at  his  dictation  to  General  Hereford  and  to 
Claude  Magnay.  It  was  well,  he  thought,  that  they  should 
know  he  was  laid  up  with  an  illness  which  might  possibly 
end  fatally ;  but  he  gave  strict  orders  that  no  one  was  to 
come  to  him  unless  he  grew  worse,  for  he  dreaded  seeing 
any  one  who  might  talk  to  him  of  his  trouble  about  Doreen, 


330  DOREEN 

and  was  always  fearful  lest  he  should  let  fall,  during  his 
restless,  feverish  nights,  any  word  that  could  harm  her,  or 
betray  to  others  the  cause  that  had  parted  them.  He  was 
far  too  ill  to  think  out  calmly  and  reasonably  the  unlikeli- 
hood of  Doreen's  infidelity  to  him ;  and,  although  now  and 
then  the  craving  for  her  presence  became  intense,  he  was, 
as  a  rule,  too  physically  weak  to  do  more  than  endure  his 
wretchedness  with  a  sort  of  sad  resignation. 

McGlynn  was  kindness  itself  to  him,  and  he  had  the  best 
of  doctors ;  numbers  of  hospitable  Irish  people  sent  him 
gifts  of  flowers  and  fruit  and  books,  while,  as  to  the  hotel 
staff,  there  was  nothing  they  would  not  have  done  for  him. 

At  length  his  eager  craving  to  be  able  to  work  once  more 
seemed  about  to  be  gratified.  For  there  came  a  morning 
when  the  fever  left  him,  when  his  nurse  looked  into  his 
changed  face  with  professional  satisfaction,  and  his  doctor 
allowed  him  to  sit  for  an  hour  in  an  armchair  by  the  win- 
dow. It  was  rapture  to  him  just  to  be  able  to  look  at  the 
trees  in  Stephen's  Green,  at  the  long  line  of  old  brick  man- 
sions, and  at  the  blue  Dublin  mountains  away  in  the  distance. 
He  felt  that  morning  that  he  should  get  well,  and  spite  of 
all  that  had  passed,  he  was  far  too  young  not  to  look  forward 
eagerly  to  going  forth  once  more  into  the  world. 

Anxious  that  he  should  be  out  as  much  as  possible,  his 
doctor  sent  him,  as  soon  as  he  was  fit  to  travel,  to  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Castle  Karey,  and  here,  in  the  still  autumnal 
days,  he  quickly  regained  his  strength.  It  was  here,  too, 
that  gentler  thoughts  of  Doreen  returned  to  him ;  her  brave, 
sweet  face  haunted  him  as  he  drove  among  the  familiar 
mountains,  or  as  he  paced  slowly  to  and  fro  in  the  hotel 
garden,  where,  but  sixteen  months  before,  iii  the  first  bright 
days  of  their  betrothal,  they  had  walked  together.  Had  he 
not,  after  all,  misjudged  her  ?  Surely  there  was  some  pos- 
sible explanation  of  her  strange  conduct  on  that  summer 
night  ?  The  whole  place  seemed  full  of  memories  of  Do- 
reen—  the  very  mountains  seemed  to  plead  with  him  to 
reconsider  his  harsh  judgment.     Again  -and  again  her  indig- 


DOREEN-  331 

nant  words,  during  their  interview  at  Bernard  Street,  recurred 
to  his  mind  —  "Don't  blaspheme  my  guardian  angel.  If 
angels  can  weep,  I  am  sure  mine  wept  at  the  sight  of  your 
faithless  heart." 

One  day  he  drove  over  to  Lough  Lee,  and,  hiring  a  boat, 
was  rowed  to  the  further  end.  There  stood  the  roofless 
cabin,  while  the  bit  of  land  which  old  Larry  had  made  with 
such  infinite  pains  had  relapsed  into  a  desolate  wilderness 
once  more.  Deep  down  at  the  bottom  of  the  lake  lay  the 
bones  of  James  Foxell ;  his  successor,  the  agent  who  had 
evicted  Larry,  still  flourished  and  evicted  other  people  from 
their  homes,  while  Lord  Byfield  enjoyed  himself  in  England, 
only  troubling  himself  to  put  in  an  appearance  in  the  House 
of  Lords,  now  and  then,  to  vote  against  such  measures  as  the 
Compensation  for  Disturbance  Bill,  or  to  help  in  mangling 
and  mutilating  the  Land  Bill. 

"  But  sure,  yer  honour,"  said  the  boatman,  as  they  dis- 
cussed the  latest  contest,  "  I  don't  blame  the  House  of 
Lords,  at  all,  at  all.  Yer  see  they're  born  imbeciles,  — they 
can't  help  themselves ! " 

Max  laughed  aloud;  there  was  something  irresistible  in 
the  humorous  look  and  the  fine  contempt  of  this  blue-eyed 
Kelt. 

"  O  would  some  fay  the  giftie  gie  'em 
To  see  themselves  as  others  see  'em," 

he  muttered  to  himself,  as  they  glided  once  more  over  the 
calm  gray  waters  of  the  lough.  And  then  that  haunting 
vision  of  Doreen  as  a  child  steering  that  very  boat  with  a 
white  resolute  face,  drove  all  other  thoughts  from  his  mind. 


CHAPTER  XXYIII. 

"  O  what  a  thing  is  man !  how  far  from  power, 
From  settled  peace  and  rest ! 
He  is  some  twenty,  several  men  at  least, 

Each  several  hour. 
Now  he  will  fight  it  out,  and  to  the  wars ; 

Now  eat  his  bread  in  peace, 
And  snudge  in  quiet ;  now  he  scorns  increase  ; 
Now  all  day  spares." 

George  Herbeet. 

Max  soon  grew  weary  of  tlie  quiet  country  place,  and  one 
morning,  happening  to  see  an  announcement  in  the  "  Free- 
man's Journal "  to  the  effect  that  Miss  Doreen  O'Ryan 
had  joined  Madame  St.  Pierre's  concert  party,  and  was  mak- 
ing a  tour  in  England,  and  that  she  would  also  sing  in  Bel- 
fast, Dublin,  Cork,  and  Waterford  during  the  third  week  in 
October,  he  suddenly  resolved  to  return  once  more  to  his 
old  quarters  at  the  Shelbourne.  He  did  not  exactly  own  to 
himself  that  he  meant  to  see  her ;  he  blinded  himself  with 
an  ingenious  pretext  of  wishing  to  be  present  at  a  Land 
League  meeting  which  was  to  take  place  towards  the  middle 
of  the  month ;  a  political  meeting  in  the  second  week  could 
have  no  remotest  bearing  upon  a  concert  in  the  third  week ! 
If  it  should  chance  that  he  stayed  on  in  Dublin,  why,  it  was 
of  course  purely  accidental. 

His  doctor  was  astonished  to  see  him  looking  so  much 
better;  for  how  should  he  know  of  the  secret  hope  that 
had  begun  to  dawn  in  his  patient's  heart  ?  McGlynn,  too, 
gave  him  hearty  congratulations,  when,  on  the  night  of  tho 

332 


DOREEN-  333 

meeting,  Max  joined  him  at  the  office  in  Upper  Sackville 
Street.  He  even  persuaded  him  to  speak,  and  Max,  partly 
from  a  wish  to  try  how  far  his  powers  had  been  impaired, 
and  partly  from  his  growing  sympathy  with^a  people  strug- 
gling against  such  desperate  odds,  made  a  short  speech. 

The  effort  tired  him  greatly,  and  it  was  not  until  noon 
on  the  following  day  that  he  rose,  and  feeling  more  inclined 
for  a  comfortable  sofa  than  for  food,  strolled  into  the  draw- 
ing-room at  the  Shelbourne.  A  widow  sat  writing  letters 
at  one  of  the  tables,  in  an  armchair  by  the  fire  sat  a  care- 
worn and  peevish-looking  old  lady,  who  was  accounted  the 
greatest  adept  in  the  art  of  grumbling  to  be  found  in  all 
Ireland,  while  with  his  back  to  the  hearth  stood  a  weather- 
beaten  old  gentleman  who  was  vehemently  abusing  the 
Irish  people. 

"  Thieves,  ma'am,  thieves,  every  one  of  them ;  that's 
what  they  are.  They  would  take  the  very  teeth  from  your 
head,  if  they  could  get  them,  and  if  they  were  worth  any- 
thing." 

The  old  lady,  conscious  of  possessing  a  valuable  set  of 
what  the  Americans  call  "store  teeth,"  looked  uncom- 
fortable. 

"I'm  sure  it's  a  great  providence  that  these  dreadful 
land-leaguers  are  in  prison,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Have  all  of 
them  been  taken,  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  The  leaders,  ma'am,  Fitzhugh  and  O'CarroU  arid  the 
rest  of  the  vile  agitators  who  lead  astray  the  ignorant 
peasantry.  There's  not  been  such  a  cowp  d^Uat  in  my  recol- 
lection.    The  Chief  Secretary  has  done  his  duty  at  last." 

Max  was  struck  dumb  with  astonishment  and  dismay. 
He  thought  no  more  of  his  fatigue,  but  hurried  off  in  search 
of  McGlynn,  and  remained  with  him  till  late  that  evening, 
far  too  much  excited  to  remember  anything  but  the  sudden 
blow  which  had  fallen  upon  the  Irish  people.  What  would 
Doreen  think,  he  wondered,  when  she  read  of  the  imprison- 
ment of  all  the  leading  men  of  her  party,  many  of  whom 
were  her  personal  friends  ?     She  would  hear  of  it,  too.  \\\ 


334  DOREEN 

the  midst  of  her  concert  tour,  when  she  was  travellmg,  per- 
haps, with  people  who  could  not  in  the  least  sympathize 
with  her.  And  soon  a  wild  desire  to  go  to  her  there  and  then 
seemed  to  overpower  every  other  consideration.  Had  she 
not  claimed  his  protection  that  day  at  Brighton?  The 
conviction  that  had  gradually  come  to  him  with  his  return- 
ing health,  that  Doreen  was  perfectly  innocent,  that  it  was 
his  approaching  illness  which  had  so  blinded  him  to  the 
truth,  became  now  a  certainty.  Doubtless  it  was  some 
rash  political  errand  that  had  taken  her  that  night  to  so 
strange  a  place ;  some  hare-brained  and  thoughtless  compa- 
triot had  bound  her  over  to  secrecy,  and  she  was  too  gener- 
ous to  betray  him.  He  would  go  straight  back  to  England 
and  beg  her  forgiveness  for  his  unworthy  suspicions. 

"  McGlynn,"  he  exclaimed,  "  come  back  with  me  to  Eng- 
land. You  run  great  risk  of  being  arrested  over  here.  Come 
back  with  me  to-morrow." 

"And  desert  a  sinking  ship  ? "  said  McGlynn,  his  bright, 
humorous  face  clouded  with  care. 

"  It's  not  a  question  of  deserting.  You  can  serve  Ireland 
far  better  if  you  are  at  large.  It  won't  do  for  every  Nation- 
alist to  be  under  lock  and  key." 

"  I  will  walk  back  with  you  to  the  Shelbourne,  and  we 
can  talk  it  over,"  said  McGlynn.  "Anyhow,  you  must 
get  out  of  this,  or  the  excitement  will  be  making  you 
ill  again." 

The  two  friends  had  no  sooner  left  McG-lynn's  lodgings 
and  stepped  out  on  to  the  pavement,  than  they  became 
aware  that  the  city  was  far  from  quiet.  The  sound  of  a 
great  multitude  made  itself  heard,  that  strange,  hoarse  roar, 
indescribable,  but  more  stirring  than  anything  on  earth. 
They  pressed  on  until  they  found  themselves  in  Sackville 
Street.  Here  women  rushed  past  them,  shrieking  with 
terror,  and  the  whole  broad  thoroughfare  presented  a  scene 
of  the  greatest  confusion;  for,  on  the  pretext  that  they 
feared  there  might  be  a  riot,  the  police,  in  large  bodies,  were 
charging  furiously  into  the  people,  showing  no  mercy  to  age 


DOREEN  335 

or  sex,  but,  with  drawn  batons  and  clenched  fists,  striking 
all  who  came  in  their  way. 

"  Hell  let  loose,"  said  Max,  his  blood  boiling  as  he  saw  an 
unfortunate  postal-telegraph  messenger  felled  to  the  ground 
and  brutally  kicked  by  a  huge  constable.  They  drew  tlie 
poor  fellow  aside  and  helped  him  up,  and  his  first  thought 
on  recovering  from  his  bewilderment  was  of  the  telegram 
he  had  been  carrying.  McGlynn  began  to  feel  anxious  for 
his  companion.  It  was  no  place  for  a  man  who  had  so 
lately  recovered  from  a  dangerous  illness,  and  when  once 
they  had  crossed  O'Connell  Bridge,  he  drew  him  aside  into 
quieter  regions. 

"Good  God!"  exclaimed  Max,  with  a  shudder,  as  he 
thought  of  the  faces  he  had  seen  covered  with  blood,  and 
of  the  sight  of  Sackville  Street  literally  strewn  with  the 
bodies  of  unoffending  men,  women,  and  children,  beaten 
down  by  the  blows  of  the  police  in  their  headlong  charge. 
"I  wonder,  McGlynn,  that  you  are  willing  to  walk  with  an 
Englishman.     How  you  must  loathe  us  all ! " 

"Well,  there  are  exceptions,"  said  McGlynn,  with  a 
humorous  look.  "And  you  are  one  of  them,  for  you  neither 
patronize  us  benevolently,  nor  tyrannize  over  us." 

After  talking  things  over,  McGlynn  was  persuaded  to  go 
to  England  the  next  morning,  with  his  friend,  and  promised 
to  join  him  at  the  Shelbourne  in  time  for  the  6.45  train  at 
Westland  Row.  After  he  had  left.  Max,  not  in  the  least 
inclined  to  sleep,  made  his  preparations  for  departure. 
Then,  taking  out  his  writing-case,  filled  up  a  telegram  form 
with  the  following  words:  "Boniface,  Regent  Street, 
London.  Telegraph  Miss  Doreen  O'Ryan's  addresses  dur- 
ing this  week  to  M.  Hereford,  North  Western  Hotel,  Holy- 
head." Then  for  the  rest  of  the  night,  half  asleep,  half 
awake,  he  thought  out  his  plans  for  meeting  Doreen  once 
more,  and  wondered  where  and  how  their  interview  would 
take  place,  and  felt  that  he  could  no  longer  endure  the 
wretchedness  of  being  utterly  ignorant  of  her  whereabouts. 
When  they  met,  when  they  talked  things  calmly  over,  when 


336  DOREEN 

he  had  asked  forgiveness  for  his  jealous  and  unworthy 
thoughts,  there  would  be  something,  he  was  convinced, 
which  she  could  explain,  and  their  quarrel  would  be  at  an 
end.     They  might  even  be  ready  to  call 

"  Blessings  on  the  falling  out 
That  all  the  more  endears." 

So  he  fondly  hoped,  and  when  the  man  waked  him  at  six 
o'clock,  he  sprang  up  eagerly  to  begin  this  new  day  from 
which  he  hoped  so  much,  not  pausing  to  realize  that  the 
excitement  of  the  previous  evening  had  told  severely  on  his 
strength,  and  that  he  was  anything  but  fit  for  the  work  he 
had  mapped  out. 

McGlynn  made  an  exclamation  of  dismay  when  he  saw 
his  flushed  face. 

"  I  don't  know  what  your  doctor  would  say  to  your  going 
off  in  a  hurry  at  this  time  in  the  morning." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  all  right  when  once  I  am  in  England," 
said  Max.  "  Dublin  always  feels  to  me  relaxing.  Help  me 
to  get  this  portmanteau  shut ;  there's  a  good  fellow." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  loud  knock,  and  before  Max 
could  reply,  the  door  was  thrown  open  by  one  of  the  waiters 
who  had  always  been  specially  good  to  him  during  his 
illness. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  man,  "  you  have  only  a  moment  to  save 
yourself;  the  Superintendent  of  Police  is  in  the  entrance 
hall,  asking  for  you  and  Mr.  McGlynn.  He  will  be  on  the 
stairs  by  now.  Come  to  the  lift,  sir,  and  I  will  see  that  you 
get  out  of  the  place  safely." 

"  You  go,"  said  Max  to  his  friend ;  "  I  will  wait ;  they 
can't  do  much  to  me." 

"  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  McGlynn,  warmly ; 
"down  with  the  paper  Union,  and  three  cheers  for  the 
Union  of  hearts  !     We  will  go  together." 

Before  any  more  could  be  said,  two  officials  appeared  at 
the    door,   and  the   superintendent,   a  particularly   quiet, 


DOREEN'  337 

courteous  man,  whose  keen,  sad  eyes  had  a  curiously  wist- 
ful expression,  came  forward  and  presented  a  warrant  first 
to  Max  Hereford  and  then  to  his  companion.  McGlynn  at 
once  accepted  the  situation  and  knew  all  that  it  meant,  but 
Max  looked  bewildered  and  indignant. 

"  It  is  a  warrant  for  your  arrest,  sir,  under  the  Coercion 
Act,"  explained  the  superintendent,  respectfully.  "  I  must 
trouble  you  to  come  with  me  as  quickly  as  you  can." 

"There  must  be  some  mistake,"  said  McGlynn.  "Of 
what  can  Mr.  Hereford  possibly  be  guilty?  You  can 
hardly  accuse  him  of  leading  the  people  astray  or  pretend 
that  he  is  a  dangerous  agitator." 

The  other  official,  who  was  of  a  different  type,  answered 
him. 

"  We  are  quite  aware  of  all  Mr.  Hereford's  movements, 
sir ;  and  his  interest  in  Irish  matters  began  years  before  he 
knew  you,  when  he  was  staying  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Lough  Lee." 

Max  felt  an  extraordinary  sensation  at  his  heart  as  the 
man,  with  a  keen  glance  at  him,  uttered  these  words.  He 
knew  that  he  changed  colour  and  that  the  detective  had 
observed  it.  He  was  about  to  make  an  angry  reply,  when 
the  superintendent  touched  him  on  the  arm. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  courteously,  "let  me  advise  you  to  say 
nothing,  but  to  come  without  delay." 

With  an  impatient  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  Max  adopted 
the  friendly  counsel,  and  drew  on  his  light  overcoat ;  but  a 
sudden  exclamation  of  wrath  escaped  him  when  he  saw  the 
detective  take  up  the  telegram  form  from  the  table,  coolly 
read  it,  and  with  a  significant  glance  hand  it  to  the  superin- 
tendent. 

"  What  are  you  about  ?  "  he  cried,  forgetting  that  he  was 
a  prisoner,  and  in  no  position  to  command.  "  Give  that 
form  to  me." 

"Sir,"  said  the  superintendent,  "you  are  not  going  to 
Holyhead  now,  and  the  form  can  be  of  no  use  to  you.  I 
am  sorry  it  is  my  duty  to  keep  it." 


33^  DOREEN 

With  that  he  folded  it  neatly  and  put  it  in  his  pocket- 
book,  while  Max  inwardly  raged  to  think  that  Doreen's 
name  in  full  should  have  been  on  the  paper,  and  that  he 
should  thus  have  dragged  her  down  with  him.  As  this 
thought  flashed  through  his  mind,  however,  a  sudden  qualm 
of  agonizing  doubt  seized  him,  a  fear  so  horrible  that  it  was 
half  paralyzing.  As  in  a  dream,  he  bade  farewell  to  the 
friendly  waiter,  and  walked  beside  the  superintendent, 
along  the  corridor,  down  the  broad  staircase,  across  the 
tiled  entrance  hall,  and  out  into  the  damp,  misty  October 
air.  The  cab  that  was  to  have  taken  them  to  Westland 
Eow  was  still  in  waiting ;  they  all  four  got  into  it  and  drove 
off  in  the  direction  of  Kilmainham. 

As  they  rattled  over  the  paving-stones  in  Stephen's  G-reen, 
the  horrible  fear  that  had  clutched  at  his  heart  changed  to 
grim  conviction.  This  was  the  explanation  of  Doreen's 
strange  conduct,  this  the  reason  of  her  sudden,  angry  sug- 
gestion that  their  betrothal  should  be  ended.  John  Des- 
mond's words  long  ago  had  fulfilled  themselves.  Sooner  or 
later,  as  he  had  prophesied,  the  secret  of  that  disastrous 
day  on  Lough  Lee  had  leaked  out,  and  it  had  been  through 
her.  Led  on,  no  doubt,  by  some  misplaced  confidence  in  an 
Irish  friend,  she  had  been  duped  into  betraying  that  her 
lover  had  been  present  at  Foxell's  death,  and  the  detectives 
had  been  set  upon  his  track.  That  something  wiis  known 
by  them  of  that  day  on  Lough  Lee,  he  was  certain  from 
the  words  that  had  passed,  and  he  was  convinced  that  no 
living  being  but  Doreen  could  have  supplied  the  informa- 
tion. Had  not  the  man,  moreover,  seized  on  the  telegram 
form  with  the  eagerness  and  satisfaction  of  a  vulture  poun- 
cing on  his  prey?  The  request  for  Doreen  O'Ryan's  ad- 
dress was  to  form  some  link  in  the  evidence  that  was  being 
got  up  against  him.  That  was  perfectly  clear,  and  his 
arrest  under  the  Coercion  Act,  which  enabled  him  to  be 
imprisoned  without  any  trial  whatever,  was,  no  doubt, 
highly  convenient  to  those  who  were  unravelling  the  Foxell 
mystery.    He  cursed  his  folly  in  having  taken  part  in  those 


DOREEN-  339 

two  Land  League  meetings,  for  thus,  as  he  clearly  saw,  he 
had  put  himself  into  their  power. 

By  this  time  they  had  passed  down  Grafton  Street,  and 
had  reached  College  Green.  He  caught  sight  of  Grattan's 
statue,  and  there  came  to  his  mind  a  story  which  Doreen 
had  told  him  of  the  great  patriot,  as  she  showed  him  that 
same  statue  eighteen  months  before,  and  the  very  poem 
which  she  had  quoted  as  they  looked  across  to  the  old 
Parliament  House,  rang  now  in  his  ears  :  — 

**  She's  not  a  dull  or  cold  land, 
No  !  she's  a  warm  and  bold  land 
Oh  !  she's  a  true  and  old  land  — 

This  native  land  of  mine. 
No  men  than  hers  are  braver, 
Her  women's  hearts  ne'er  waver ; 
I'd  freely  die  to  save  her, 

And  think  my  lot  divine." 

A  vehement  struggle  began  in  his  heart:  his  better  nature* 
striving  hard  to  draw  him  back  to  faith  in  Doreen,  his 
proud,  stubborn  temper  urging  him  not  to  yield,  while 
devils'  voices  filled  his  mind  with  every  attack  conceivable 
on  the  Irish  character.  Were  not  the  people  of  Ireland, 
after  all,  mere  pleasant  acquaintances,  but  radically  unsound ; 
smooth-tongued,  but  false-hearted ;  headstrong,  mendacious, 
given  up  to  secret  plotting,  vain,  garrulous,  and  quarrelsome  ? 
Here  was  he,  with  his  whole  career  blighted  by  the  idle 
talk  of  the  very  woman  who  should  have  been  his  best 
helper.  She  had  sworn  to  keep  silence  in  the  past,  and 
she  had  plighted  her  troth  to  him,  and  now  was  doubly  for- 
sworn. It  was  all  in  vain  that  his  conscience  brought  be- 
fore him  a  clear  perception  of  his  own  anger  and  bitterness, 
and  harsh,  unjust  judgment;  he  deliberately  yielded  to 
those  other  blind  guides  who  bade  him  think  of  what  the 
world  would  say  to  his  imprisonment:  how  some  would 
laugh  and  some  shrug  their  shoulders,  and  how  his  name 
would  be    bandied  about  contemptuously,   while   General 

x2 


340  DOREEN 

Hereford  would  be  careful  to  add  that  it  all  came  through 
his  foolish  attachment  to  that  Fenian's  daughter. 

"  And,  after  all,  the  old  man  is  right ! "  he  reflected  bit- 
terly, as  they  turned  from  Dame  Street  into  Parliament 
Street;  "it  has  come  from  that.  If  I  had  never  seen 
Doreen,  how  different  all  would  have  been  !  But  I  will  see 
her  no  more,  will  think  of  her  no  more.  I  have  been  fool- 
ing myself  all  this  time,  have  dreamt  that  she  was  the 
very  ideal  of  all  that  was  noble,  and  she  is,  after  all,  not 
even  a  trustworthy  woman.  Yes,  I  will  judge,  I  will  con- 
demn. If  I  can't  go  where  I  please,  I  will  at  least  think 
what  I  please." 

While  Max  had  given  place  to  the  spirit  of  injustice,  and 
wrath,  and  hatred,  McGlynn  was  chatting  away  in  an  easy, 
unconcerned  fashion  to  the  superintendent.  The  prospect 
of  imprisonment  did  not  in  the  least  daunt  him ;  he  regarded 
it  as  a  necessary  part  in  the  career  of  a  patriotic  Irishman, 
and  rejoiced  in  the  thought  that,  by  enduring  a  slight 
"amount  of  discomfort  for  a  time,  he  was  helping  to  pur- 
chase his  country's  freedom.  As  they  drove  along  the 
quays.  Max  listened  to  his  cheery  talk  and  marvelled  at  it. 
It  was  difficult  to  maintain  his  contempt  for  what  he  was 
pleased  to  consider  the  typical  Irish  character  when  in  the 
presence  of  this  blithe,  brave-hearted  Land-Leaguer,  with 
his  high  ideals,  and  his  readiness  to  take  whatever  came  in 
the  way  of  personal  inconvenience  and  restriction. 

At  last  they  drew  up  before  the  grim  portals  of  Kilmain- 
ham,  and  Max,  feeling  like  one  in  a  dream,  speedily  found 
himself  installed  in  a  cell,  and  learnt  the  sort  of  treatment 
he  was  to  receive.  He  might  wear  his  own  clothes;  he 
could  have  what  books  or  writing-materials  he  pleased ;  he 
could  order  in  a  bed  if  he  wished  to  do  so ;  and  could  pro- 
vide his  own  food.  Also,  he  was  permitted  to  associate  for 
several  hours  in  the  day,  if  he  liked,  with  the  other  prison- 
ers under  the  Coercion  Act. 

It  was  some  relief  to  him  the  next  day  to  see  McGlynn's 
bright  face  and  feel  his  hearty  grip  of  the  hand.     The  Kelt 


DOREEJSr  341 

was  in  excellent  spirits,  and  seemed  ready  to  make  fun  of 
everything,  but  he  readily  understood  that  the  imprison- 
ment which  to  an  Irishman  was  an  honour,  must  seem  to 
the  Englishman  in  every  way  a  disgrace.  »It  was  not  so 
easy  to  endure  a  punishment  at  the  hands  of  one's  own 
countrymen,  and  in  a  cause  that  as  yet  found,  in  England, 
scarcely  any  supporters. 

"  Beyond  the  loss  of  freedom  and  the  annoyance  of  hav- 
ing one's  letters  looked  at,  I  don't  see  that  we  have  much 
to  complain  of,"  said  McGlynn.  "  Think  what  it  would  be 
to  endure  penal  servitude  like  Donal  Moore,  to  be  classed 
with  criminals,  and  forced  —  as  many  political  prisoners 
here  have  been  —  to  wear  prison  dress,  the  badge  of  crime ! " 

"  You  make  light  of  the  discomforts,"  said  Max,  hotly ; 
"  but  do  you  know  that  I  can't  see  a  doctor  without  having 
a  warder  all  the  time  in  the  cell  ?     It's  abominable ! " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know  some  of  them  chafe  against  that  rule," 
said  the  young  Irishman.  "They  say  Fitzhugh  raged 
like  a  lion  when  the  warder  insisted  on  staying,  while 
O'Carroll  said  nothing  whatever,  but  courteously  handed 
the  man  a  chair.  It  was  just  like  him.  Here  he  comes ! 
By  the  bye,  let  me  introduce  you.  Mr.  Hereford,"  he  said, 
laughing,  as  the  two  prisoners  greeted  each  other,  "does 
not  think  Kilmainham  a  bed  of  roses." 

"  Oh,  you  will  grow  very  much  accustomed  to  it,"  said 
O'Carroll,  his  quiet,  melancholy  eyes  keenly  scrutinizing 
the  young  Englishman's  face  for  a  moment,  and  reading  in 
it  something  which  told  him  that  Max  was  passing  through 
a  difficult  stage  of  his  life  and  had  not  come  out  conqueror. 
"  It  is  wonderful  how  soon  you  can  adapt  yourself  to  en- 
tirely different  conditions  if  you  try." 

Max  thought  O'Carroll  had  succeeded  admirably  as 
regarded  his  mind,  but  his  physical  frame  told  a  very 
different  tale. 

"  You  go  on  the  philosophic  principle  of  taking  things  as 
you  find  them,"  he  replied. 

"Well,  yes,  we  must  take,  things  as  we  find  them,"  said 


342  DOREEAT 

O'Carroll,  smiling;  ^^but  we  must  leave  them  better.  I 
see  you  think  that's  an  impossibility  for  a  prisoner ;  but  if 
ever  you  spend  as  much  time  in  prison  as  I  have  done 
(which  Heaven  forefend),  you  will  understand  what  I  mean. 
Anyhow,  this  is  grand  training  for  a  future  legislator." 

"  To  me  it  seems  like  the  utter  shipwreck  of  my  career," 
said  Max,  gloomily.  "  Imagine  the  Krdale  electors  having 
me  as  their  candidate  after  this ! " 

"  Well,  I  can't  judge  how  it  may  affect  you  over  there," 
said  O'Carroll,  ^'but  you  will  find  that  the  Irish  are  not 
ungrateful  to  one  who  has  suffered  in  their  cause." 

Max  did  not  reply ;  he  fell  into  despondent  musing  over 
that  strange  web  of  fate  which  had  gradually  coiled  about 
him  since  the  time  of  old  Larry's  threatened  eviction.  It 
was  the  Foxell  mystery  which  had  really  led  to  his  impris- 
onment, he  fancied,  —  not  the  few  vehement  words  he  had 
spoken  at  the  Land  League  meetings  in  defence  of  the 
rights  of  free  speech,  and  ia  condemnation  of  land-grabbers. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

*'  Brave  eyes  I  brave  eyes,  and  trustful  too,  as  brave, 
In  which  thought  follows  thought  as  wave  on  wave  ; 
True  mirrors  clear,  reflecting  ev'ry  feeling, 
Now  bright,  now  blank,  now  full  of  soft  appealing. 

"  Yet  there  is  one  phase  which  they  do  not  show, 
A  shy  reserve  beneath  the  light  and  glow, 
A  dim,  soft  veil,  with  a  sweet,  subtle  art, 
Keeps  hidden  still  some  chambers  of  the  heart. 

"Brave  eyes  !  brave  eyes,  'tis  not  your  form  or  hue. 
That  wins  our  love,  that  draws  all  hearts  to  you  ; 
It  is  the  radiance  of  pure  womanhood. 
Shining  so  clear  with  ever-changing  mood." 

Ellen  O'Leary. 

"  My  dear,  nothing  you  can  say  will  make  me  like  Madame 
Sardoni ;  and  the  ridiculous  fuss  the  Hastings  people  made 
over  her  last  night  was  really  pitiable.  Very  bad  taste,  too, 
on  her  part,  to  sing  that  song  as  an  encore;  she  might  have 
known  that  I  have  sung  it  for  years  and  have  made  it  my 
own." 

So  spake  Madame  St.  Pierre  as,  with  a  ruffled  and  dis- 
pleased air,  she  took  her  place  in  the  saloon  carriage 
specially  retained  for  Ferrier's  company.  Doreen,  in  a 
very  becoming  ulster  and  dainty  little  travelling-hat,  sat 
beside  her. 

"  Well,  you  know,"  she  replied,  "  Domenica  has  not  long 
been  in  England,  and  I  am  quite  sure  she  would  not  have 

343 


344  DOREEM 

chosen  that  song  had  she  known  that  it  had  almost  become 
3'our  special  property.  It  is  a  mistake  that  any  one  who 
has  been  for  years  in  America  might  make.  I  made  the 
very  same  mistake  at  that  city  dinner  years  ago,  and  you 
have  been  very  kind  to  me,  you  know." 

There  was  something  in  the  winsome  smile  and  in  the 
half  coaxing  tone  that  proved  irresistible.  Madame  St. 
Pierre  gave  her  hand  a  little  friendly  pat. 

"No  one  could  have  the  heart  to  be  unkind  to  you,  I 
should  think,"  she  said.  "  And  as  to  that  song,  why  it  was, 
after  all,  one  of  your  own  Irish  melodies.  Ah,  here  comes 
that  woman !  To  think  that  this  is  only  the  second  week 
in  October,  and  that  we  are  to  travel  together  till  the 
middle  of  November!" 

*'I  always  notice,"  said  Doreen,  laughing,  "that  for  the 
first  week  we  are  all  so  good  and  polite  to  each  other,  but 
after  that  the  little  rubs  begin." 

The  rubs  had  begun  for  her  on  the  previous  evening, 
when  the  startling  news  of  the  wholesale  arrests  in  Dublin 
had  set  Ferrier's  concert  party  talking  vehemently  on  politi- 
cal matters ;  and  to  hear  people  talking  of  the  Irish  when 
they  had  never  taken  the  trouble  really  to  study  the  history 
of  Ireland  always  severely  tried  Doreen's  temper.  It  was 
maddening  to  have  the  slight  smattering  gained  from  some 
hostile  English  newspaper  hurled  at  her  in  argument  as 
Gospel  truth,  and  at  dinner  on  the  previous  day  something 
very  like  a  quarrel  had  come  about. 

"  I  can't  conceive,"  said  Stainforth,  the  violinist,  a  some- 
what cynical-looking  Englishman,  "how  you  can  allow 
yourself  to  be  carried  away  by  sentiment,  when  you  must 
be  aware  that  not  a  single  educated  person  is  in  favour  of 
Home  Kule." 

"I  would  rather  be  'carried  away,'  as  you  call  it,  by 
honest  national  feeling,"  retorted  Doreen,  angrily,  "than 
be  stuck  in  a  bog  of  crass  ignorance  as  you  are." 

Naturally,  the  violinist  did  not  like  this  frank  repayment 
in  his  own  coin,  and  the  war  of  words  had  raged  more  hotly. 


DOREEISr  345 

"  You  can't  maintain  that  the  upper  classes  are  in  favour 
of  it." 

"  The  upper  classes  are  chiefly  English  and  Scotch  set- 
tlers, and  no  more  Irish  than  you  are.  They  tli ink  of  them- 
selves and  of  their  own  interests,  with  some  few  noble  ex- 
ceptions. There,  as  here,  all  reform  is  brought  about  by 
the  people." 

The  violinist's  reply  to  this  had  been  so  fiery  that  Ferrier 
had  intervened. 

"It's  all  very  well  for  you,  my  dear  fellow,  who  don't 
keep  your  shop  in  your  throat,  but  we  shall  be  as  hoarse  as 
ravens  if  we  have  any  more  politics  now.  A  truce  to  hos- 
tilities. Fitzhugh  is  safely  in  Kilmainham,  and  there  let 
him  rest." 

The  little  unpleasantness  which  had  arisen  between 
Madame  Sardoni  and  Madame  St.  Pierre  during  the  con- 
cert had  diverted  the  thoughts  of  everyone  from  the  Irish 
couip  d^4tat,  and  Doreen,  who  was  a  born  peacemaker,  had 
done  her  best  to  smooth  things  down,  and  had  been  con- 
fided in  by  both  ladies.  But  Stainforth  had  not  quite  for- 
given her  for  having  presumed  to  speak  of  his  "  crass  igno- 
rance." It  was  quite  true  that  he  knew  no  more  of  Irish 
history  than  a  child  of  seven,  and  had  not  the  smallest  in- 
tention of  troubling  himself  to  study  it ;  but  still,  to  be  ruth- 
lessly told  by  a  woman  —  and  still  worse  by  an  Irishwoman 
—  that  he  was  "stuck  in  a  bog  of  crass  ignorance"  was 
more  than  he  could  patiently  endure.  He  was  so  much 
accustomed  to  sneering  at  Irish  patriotism,  and  dismissing 
it  from  serious  consideration  with  the  contemptuous  epithet 
"  mere  sentiment,"  that  he  hardly  realized  how  rude  and 
how  irritating  his  speech  had  seemed  to  Doreen.  Nor  did 
he  pause  to  consider  that  if  an  Irishman  had  dared  to  call 
his  national  feeling  mere  English  "sentiment,"  he  would 
have  been  furious  at  the  insult. 

That  afternoon,  at  the  Hastings  station,  he  caught  sight 
of  a  line  on  the  newspaper  posters  which  assured  him  of 
revenge  upon  the  Irish  prima  donna.     Sardoni  and  Ferrier 


346  DOREEN 

had  apparently  noticed  the  same  thing,  for  they  stood  talk- 
ing together  in  low  tones  beside  the  bookstall.  The  violin- 
ist purchased  two  papers  and  made  his  way  to  the  saloon 
carriage,  where  Doreen,  with  a  certain  amused  look  lurking 
about  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  was  trying  to  beguile  her 
two  companions  out  of  their  stiff  and  uncompromising  mood. 
He  offered  the  "  Graphic "  to  Madame  St.  Pierre,  who 
thanked  him  graciously. 

"  I  don't  know  if  you  care  to  see  this,  Miss  O'Ryan,"  he 
said,  smiling,  as  he  handed  her  an  evening  paper  of  Radical 
proclivities.  "I  am  afraid  none  of  them  are  exactly  of 
your  way  of  thinking." 

''Thank  you,"  said  Doreen,  pleasantly.  ''I  take  that  as 
an  amende  honorable  for  last  night.  This  paper  is,  at  any 
rate,  less  unjust  to  Ireland  than  the  others;  as  the  children 
say  of  their  lessons,  it  is  the  '  least  worst.' " 

She  settled  herself  at  the  further  end  of  the  carriage, 
opened  the  paper,  and  almost  immediately  saw  the  large 
type  announcement,  —  "  Wholesale  Arrests  in  Dublin. 
Imprisonment  of  Mr.  Max  Hereford."  After  that  for 
a  few  moments  everything  swam  before  her  eyes,  though, 
with  an  instinct  of  self-preservation,  she  still  held  up  the 
paper  as  a  shield  between  herself  and  the  rest  of  the  world. 
She  was  vaguely  conscious  that  the  other  men  of  the  party 
got  in,  —  she  heard  them  talking,  in  a  confused  way ;  heard  the 
guard's  shout  of  "  Eastbourne  train !  All  for  Eastbourne, 
Bexhill,  and  Pevensey ! "  was  dimly  aware  that  they  were 
slowly  moving  out  of  the  station.  Then  she  felt  a  touch  on 
her  hand,  and  glancing  up,  saw  that  Terrier  was  bending 
over  her.  His  broad  shoulders  sheltered  her  from  the  ob- 
servation of  the  others,  and  Sardoni  had  dexterously  con- 
trived to  set  them  all  laughing  over  one  of  the  practical 
jokes  in  which  he  was  an  adept. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Eerrier,  ''  we  had  hoped  you  would  not 
notice  this." 

She  looked  up  at  him  in  a  dazed  way. 

"I  do  not  understand  it,"  she  said.     ''I  did  not  even 


DOREEN  347 

know  he  was  in  Ireland.  Think  of  it,  oh,  just  think  of  it ! 
He  was  over  there  in  my  own  country,  and  I  never  knew ! 
Oh,  what  am  I  to  do  ?    What  can  I  do  ?  " 

Ferrier,  touched  by  her  distress,  racked"  his  brain  for 
some  word  of  comfort,  and  in  a  moment  of  inspiration  recol- 
lected the  way  in  which  she  had  told  him  that  her  betrothal 
was  at  an  end. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said,  in  an  undertone,  "Kelt  and  Saxon 
are  nearer  to  understanding  each  other  than  you  thought." 

She  gave  him  a  grateful  look,  then  once  more  caught  up 
the  paper. 

"  Let  me  read  all  that  it  says  before  we  get  to  that  tun- 
nel ! "  she  exclaimed,  and  Ferrier  read  with  her  the  following 
lines :  — 

"At  an  early  hour  on  Friday  morning,  Mr.  Richard 
McGlynn  and  Mr.  Max  Hereford  were  arrested  at  the  Shel- 
bourne  Hotel,  and  conveyed  to  Kilmainham.  Both  gentlemen 
were  about  to  leave  for  England.  Mr.  Hereford  unsuccessfully 
contested  Firdale  at  the  General  Election,  and  is  well  known 
on  Radical  platforms,  and  as  a  temperance  advocate.  Some 
surprise  has  been  felt  as  to  his  arrest  under  the  Coercion 
Act,  but  it  appears  that  on  Wednesday  last  he  spoke  at  one 
of  the  Land  League  meetings,  and  denounced  land-grabbers 
in  no  measured  terms,  while  at  a  meeting  in  July  he  used 
equally  strong  language  as  to  the  Irishman's  right  to  free 
speech.  Considerable  indignation  has  been  expressed  in 
Dublin,  where,  during  a  long  and  dangerous  illness  this  sum- 
mer, Mr.  Hereford  has  made  for  himself  many  friends." 

He  had  been  ill,  then,  and  she  had  never  known  it.  And 
now,  only  just  recovered,  they  had  thrust  him  into  that 
hateful  Kilmainham,  the  gloomy  jail  she  remembered  so 
well  visiting  as  a  child,  while  her  father  had  been  awaiting 
his  trial.  If  he  had  been  through  a  long  illness,  he  must 
have  been  taken  ill  almost  directly  after  she  last  saw  him, 
—  must,  at  the  very  time  of  their  quarrel,  have  been  affected 
by  the  coming  trouble.  In  a  moment  it  became  clear  to 
her  that  this  iUness  must  have  been  coming  on  for  months, 


348  DOREEN 

that  it  was  probably  accounted  for  by  the  terrible  shock  of  his 
mother's  sudden  death,  and  that  all  that  listless  idleness,  that 
tendency  to  be  irritated  by  trifles,  had  been  fully  accounted 
for.     Why,  oh,  why,  had  she  not  realized  this  in  time  ? 

Terrier  said  a  kindly  word  or  two,  and  then  rejoined  the 
others,  while  Doreen  mechanically  turned  over  the  pages  of 
the  newspaper,  scarcely  seeing  the  words  that  her  eye  trav- 
elled over,  because  her  thoughts  were  far  away  with  Max. 
But  suddenly  a  paragraph  in  quite  another  part  of  the  paper 
startled  her  into  strained  attention. 

"A  French  gentleman  —  M.  Baptiste  Charpentier  —  for- 
wards us  the  following  extraordinary  anecdote.  It  seems 
that  he  and  a  companion,  while  fishing  in  Lough  Lee, 
caught  a  remarkably  fine  trout  which  they  bade  the  cook 
at  their  hotel  to  dress  for  supper.  On  opening  the  fish,  a 
gold  watch-key  was  discovered  bearing  upon  the  seal  the 
initials  J.  F.  The  anglers  very  rightly  placed  the  key  at 
once  in  the  hands  of  the  police." 

The  face  of  Baptiste,  the  valet,  flashed  back  into  Doreen's 
memory,  and  with  it  the  recollection  of  that  same  face 
which  had  perplexed  her  at  the  Firdale  election.  Instantly 
her  quick  Keltic  perception  had  grasped  the  truth  of  the 
case ;  this  valet  who  had  helped  to  nurse  Desmond  through 
his  illness,  must  have  gained  some  sort  of  clue  to  what 
had  happened  on  Lough  Lee  while  the  tutor  had  been  delir- 
ious. She  remembered,  too,  with  a  horrible  pang,  that  she 
herself  had  been  speaking  to  Max  about  that  disastrous  day 
years  ago  during  her  first  visit  to  Monkton  Verney,  and 
that  the  French  servant  had  suddenly  emerged  from  the 
shrubbery  with  a  message  for  his  master.  Max  had  assured 
her  that  he  would  not,  in  any  case,  have  understood,  but 
not  long  after  he  had  caught  the  man  reading  his  letters 
and  had  angrily  dismissed  him.  Surely,  it  was  only  too 
clear  that  Baptiste  had  been  a  spy,  eagerly  trying  to  win 
the  reward  offered  by  Mr.  Foxell's  widow  for  the  discovery 
of  the  murderer,  and  that  he  had  been  Max  Hereford's  bitter 
enemy  ever  since  his  angry  dismissal. 


DOREEN  349 

In  a  sort  of  despair  she  looked  out  at  the  flat,  desolate 
shore,  with  its  dreary  martello  towers.  If  Max  were  in 
difficulty  or  danger,  Desmond  had  bade  her  set  him  free 
from  his  oath.  And  here  he  was  in  prison,  possibly  on 
account  of  this  very  discovery  of  Foxell's  watch-key,  and  of 
Baptiste's  revelations;  yet  she  dared  not  open  her  lips  to 
any  one  else,  lest,  after  all,  Foxell's  murder  had  nothing  what- 
ever to  do  with  his  present  imprisonment,  and  he  had  really 
been  arrested  only  for  his  speeches.  Well,  she  would  write 
to  him,  and  tell  him  that  it  was  John  Desmond  she  had  met 
in  London  on  that  summer  evening.  That  mystery  at  least 
might  be  done  away  with,  and  she  would  say  that  he  was 
free  to  tell  the  whole  truth.  Taking  out  her  pocket-book, 
she  rapidly  scribbled  the  outline  of  a  letter  to  him,  and 
found  relief  in  unburdening  her  heart.  Then  suddenly, 
with  a  bitter  sense  of  disappointment  and  baffled  hope,  she 
remembered  that  all  the  letters  he  would  receive  would  most 
certainly  be  read  by  the  authorities.  It  was  no  use  to  write, 
—  no  use  at  all,  —  and  as  they  reached  their  destination,  she 
tore  the  pencilled  lines  to  pieces,  and  watched  them  drift 
away  in  the  stormy  autumn  wind. 

"  Come,"  said  Terrier,  kindly  ;  "  let  me  take  your  bag  for 
you.  The  train  is  behind  time,  and  our  dinner  will  be  wait- 
ing for  us." 

But  the  very  thought  of  eating  was  intolerable  to  her. 
Like  one  in  a  dream,  she  took  her  place  in  the  long  hotel 
omnibus,  and  heard  the  others  praise  the  picturesque  streets, 
with  their  golden  and  russet  elm  trees,  and  felt  a  momen- 
tary sense  of  companionship  as  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
stormy  sea  with  its  white-crested  waves. 

"  It's  no  good,  Domenica,"  she  said  presently,  as  Madame 
Sardoni  came  to  her  bedroom  to  urge  her  to  come  down  to 
the  four  o'clock  dinner,  which  had  been  prepared  for  Fer- 
rier's  company.  "  The  only  chance  of  my  being  fit  to  sing 
to-night  is  to  keep  quiet.  If  I  went  down,  I  couldn't  eat,  so 
where  is  the  use  ?  I'm  going  out  by  the  sea.  I  must  have 
time  to  think." 


350  DOREEN- 

Domenica  Sardoni  was  one  of  those  delightful  people  who 
seldom  argue.  She  only  looked  musingly  into  the  girl's 
haggard  face  and  sad  eyes. 

"  Well,  don't  take  cold,"  she  said.  "  These  autumn  after- 
noons are  treacherous.  If  you  will  go,  then  take  your 
fur  cape." 

Doreen,  with  a  forlorn  smile,  unstrapped  her  wraps,  and 
obediently  took  out  the  fur,  then,  with  a  sudden  impulse, 
turned  and  kissed  her  companion  warmly. 

"  You  are  a  very  good  friend  to  me,"  she  said  in  a 
broken  voice. 

"  I  wish  Carlo  Donati  were  here,"  said  Domenica,  as  they 
went  downstairs  together. 

But  Doreen,  as  she  went  out  alone  into  the  fresh  autumnal 
air,  thought  to  herself,  "  Carlo  Donati  is  the  best  man  in  the 
world,  but  I  don't  want  him,  for  all  that.  I  want  Max  — 
and  no  one  but  Max !  Max  is  mine,  and  I  am  his,  whatever 
may  happen." 

And  then,  with  an  awful  revulsion,  she  remembered  that 
Max  must  be  wholly  indifferent  to  her,  or  he  would  surely 
have  answered  her  letter  in  the  summer, — that  letter  which 
it  had  cost  her  so  much  to  write,  and  which  she  knew  from 
his  own  lips  he  had  received  "  quite  safely."  The  irony  of 
his  utter  lack  of  comment  struck  her  now  even  more  bit- 
terly than  it  had  done  at  the  time.  Perhaps  he  had  thought 
her  "  unwomanly  "  to  write  it.  Perhaps  she  had  only  of- 
fended him  more  deeply  by  seeking  to  set  things  right. 
The  strong  west  wind  blew  through  and  through  her.  The 
salt  spray  beat  in  her  face.  The  tide  was  high,  and  every 
now  and  then  a  wave  would  break  right  over  the  deserted 
parade  on  which  she  was  walking.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
seen  save  the  bold  outline  of  Beachy  Head,  with  its  white 
cliffs  and  smooth  green  slopes,  while  on  one  side  of  the 
bricked  walk  rose  a  high  bank,  planted  with  tamarisk,  and 
on  the  other  stretched  the  great,  heaving  expanse  of  stormy 
sea.  She  started  back  a  little  as  a  wave  dashed  up  almost 
to  her  feet.    What  if  she  were  swept  away  relentlessly? 


DOREEN-  35 1 

If  sho,  too,  sank,  as  she  had  seen  her  father's  lifeless  body 
sink  into  that  great  unknown  region,  where  below  the 
troubled  surface  all  would  be  calm  and  still  ?  Why,  that 
would  never  do  when  with  her  rested  the  means  of  rescuing 
^lax  from  Kihnainham. 

She  drew  from  her  pocket-book  the  little  calendar  of 
Ferrier's  tour,  and  read  over  the  engagements  of  the  next 
few  days.  "Saturday,  Eastbourne;  Monday,  Edinburgh; 
Tuesday,  Glasgow ;  Wednesday,  Belfast ;  Thursday,  Dublin ; 
Friday,  Cork ;  Saturday  morning,  Waterford ;  Monday,  Bir- 
mingham." She  had  heard  much  grumbling  among  her 
companions  at  this  hard  and  ill-arranged  week.  They  de- 
tested crossing  the  Irish  Sea;  they  protested  vehemently 
that  Freen's  thoughtless  plan  of  a  morning  concert  at 
Waterford  on  the  Saturday,  would  expose  them  to  the 
horrors  of  a  longer  sea-passage,  and  all  for  the  sake  of  the 
objectionable  Irish,  who  at  that  time  were  in  great  disfa- 
vour, —  the  "  sentimental  people  encircled  by  the  melancholy 
ocean." 

"  Since  I  cannot  write  to  Max,"  thought  Doreen,  "  I  must 
go  to  see  him.  When  I  have  told  him  all,  why,  then  he 
will  be  safe,  whatever  happens,  and  I  am  surely  now  justi- 
fied in  telling  him.  Mr.  Desmond,  I  am  sure,  would  say  so. 
He  warned  me  that  Baptiste  was  on  the  track,  and  that 
paragraph  shows  that  he  has  secured  one  strong  piece  of 
evidence.  Oh,  God !  to  think  of  all  the  misery  and  trouble 
that  might  have  been  spared,  had  the  agent  shown  the  least 
humanity  to  poor  Larry  !  Trace  to  its  source  almost  every 
crime  or  sorrow  in  Ireland,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  you 
will  find  a  heartless  and  unjust  eviction  as  its  originator. 
And,  oh,  while  I  walk  here  at  large.  Max  is  in  that  hate- 
fifl  place !  and  of  all  men  he  is  the  one  to  feel  imprison- 
ment most  keenly.  He  who  has  lived  all  his  life  in  free 
England  !  how  will  he  bear  the  discomforts  and  restrictions, 
the  comments,  too,  that  his  case  will  give  rise  to  ?  And 
just  now  when  he  is  onl}^  recovering  from  dangerous  illness. 
He  will  never  stand  it !    O'CarroU  and  Donal  Moore  and 


352  DOREEN 

Fitzhugh,  they  are  made  of  different  stuff,  —  they  are  Irish, 
and  can  and  will  bear  gladly  whatever  comes  to  them,  for 
the  sake  of  Ireland.  But  Max  is  only  beginning  to  under- 
stand things,  and  he  is  English  to  the  core,  and  has  not  been 
through  the  long,  long  discipline  which  goes  to  make  a 
patriot.  Oh,  how  can  I  be  patient  till  Thursday ;  how  am 
I  to  get  through  my  work  ?  " 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  a  hearty  voice  behind  her,  "  why 
are  you  playing  the  rdU  of  a  '  Bride  of  Venice,'  ^  by  the  sad 
sea  waves  ?  '  Don't  you  know  that  the  sun  is  setting,  and 
that  the  sea  air  will  play  all  manner  of  tricks  with  your 
throat  ?  " 

She  looked  round,  and  there  was  Ferrier,  with  real  anxiety 
in  his  kindly  face,  while  Sardoni,  at  a  little  distance,  ap- 
peared to  be  absorbed  in  making  ducks  and  drakes  with 
such  pebbles  as  he  could  lay  hands  on.  Doreen  knew  per- 
fectly well  that  the  two  kindly,  chivalrous  men  had  come 
out  on  purpose  to  find  her. 

"  It  was  very  good  of  you  to  come,"  she  said  gratefully, 
"  and  before  we  turn  back,  there  is  just  one  thing  I  want  to 
ask  you.     How  long  shall  we  be  in  Dublin  ?  " 

"  Only  the  one  night,"  said  Ferrier,  "  and  off  pretty  early 
the  next  morning  to  Cork." 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  to  follow  you  then  to  Cork  by  the 
afternoon  train ;  there  is  something  I  must  do  while  we  are 
in  Dublin.  If  hundreds  of  your  countrymen  had  been 
thrust  into  prison  by  the  Irish,  and  if  all  your  popular 
political  leaders  were  locked  up  in  Millbank  and  Newgate, 
you  would  want  a  few  hours'  grace,  if  you  were  passing 
through  London." 

She  did  not  look  at  him  as  she  spoke,  because  tears  had 
started  to  her  eyes  at  the  thought  of  the  deplorable  state  of 
things  which  she  was  describing.  Ferrier  was  touched 
with  pity  as  he  looked  at  the  white,  pathetic  face  struggling 
bravely  to  hold  emotion  in  check.  He  glanced  away  to  the 
west.  A  soft,  blue  shade  was  gradually  enveloping  Beachy 
Head,  contrasting  vividly  with  a  stormy  gleam  of  crimson 


DOREEN  353 

in  the  sunset  sky  above  it.  In  the  silence  that  fell  between 
them,  they  both  noticed  the  rolling  thunder  of  the  sea,  as  it 
surged  over  the  rocky  shore. 

"  By  all  means,  take  whatever  extra  time  is  necessary," 
said  Ferrier,  at  length.  "  I  am  not  interested  in  politics,  as 
you  know,  and  your  schemes  of  reform  seem  to  me  utterly 
impracticable,  and  even  undesirable.  But,  at  the  same 
time,  I  can  understand  that  you  Irish  folk  look  on  things 
from  a  different  standpoint,  and  it  may  be  that  you  are 
right  and  we  are  wrong.  But  now,  my  dear,  come  home 
and  rest,  or  you  will  certainly  break  down  before  the  tour 
is  over." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  preaching  on  the  text  ^  Take  it 
easy,'"  said  Sardoni,  with  a  laugh,  joining  them  as  they 
turned  back  towards  the  hotel.  "  It  is  the  great  secret  of 
success  in  life.  Miss  O'Ryan,  as  I  am  always  trying  to  per- 
suade Donati.  Why  should  you  wear  yourself  out  in 
a  cause  that  won't  even  be  capable  of  expressing  its 
gratitude  ?  " 

"  But  to  be  worn  out  in  a  good  cause  is  an  ideal  death," 
said  Doreen.  "What  better  could  one  wish?  However, 
you  see,  I'm  obediently  going  home  to  eat  and  rest,  as  my 
chief  bids  me." 

Sardoni  fell  to  talking  of  some  of  the  adventures  that 
had  befallen  him  while  travelling  with  Merlino's  operatic 
company,  and  Doreen,  as  she  walked  home  under  the  shel- 
ter of  the  tamarisk  bank,  knew  that  the  two  men  were 
trying  to  come  between  her  and  her  trouble,  just  as  their 
sturdy  forms  came  between  her  and  the  stoimy,  troubled 
sea.  Nevertheless,  their  efforts  were  not  altogether  success- 
ful ;  for,  as  she  was  singing  that  evening  at  the  Devonshire 
Park,  a  sort  of  spasm  seized  her  throat,  and  her  voice  broke 
discordantly  on  a  high  note. 

"It  is  the  sea  air,"  said  Domenica,  kindly.  "It  always 
affects  the  throat  more  or  less." 

"It  was  the  torture  of  singing  that  merry  song  when  I 
am  so  miserably  unhappy,"  thought  Doreen. 

T 


354  DOREEN 

"It  is  this  confounded  Irish  business,  and  the  strong 
emotion  she  has  been  through,"  said  Ferrier,  as  he  went 
down  the  steps  for  his  duet  with  Sardoni. 

"To  my  mind,"  replied  the  tenor,  "that  lover  is  the 
cause  of  it  all.     I  should  like  to  kick  him." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"  And  now 
A  word,  but  one,  one  little  kindly  word. 
Not  one  to  spare  her :  out  upon  you,  flint ! " 

The  Princess. 

It  was  with  very  mingled  feelings  that  Doreen  alighted 
at  the  Shelbourne  about  six  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  on  the 
following  Thursday.  It  seemed  to  her  that  ages  had  passed 
by  since  that  Saturday  when  she  walked  by  the  shore  at 
Eastbourne,  and  the  weary  journeys  by  land  and  sea,  the 
fatigue  of  singing  the  same  songs  each  night,  and,  above 
all,  the  sickening  anxiety  about  Max,  had  told  upon  her 
severely.  The  friendly  housekeeper  who  had  known  her 
for  years  scarcely  recognized  her  at  first.  She  discreetly 
asked  no  questions,  however,  when  she  had  given  her  cor- 
dial greeting,  for  a  certain  amount  of  Doreen's  story  was,  of 
course,  public  property,  and  most  people  had  heard  that 
"  the  marriage  shortly  to  take  place  between  Miss  Doreen 
O'Ryan  and  Mr.  Hereford  "  had  been  given  up. 

"  Let  me  show  you  to  your  room.  Miss  O'Ryan,"  she  said 
pleasantly.  "  I  have  put  you  in  the  front  of  the  house,  for 
I  know  you  are  fond  of  the  view." 

"  That  is  good  of  you,"  said  Doreen,  crossing  to  one  of  the 
windows  and  looking  over  the  chestnut  trees  in  Stephen's 
Green  to  the  campanile  on  the  further  side,  and  the  dark 
outline  of  the  Dublin  mountains  beyond.  "  Why,  you  have 
given  me  a  most  palatial  bedroom." 

"  It  lias  not  been  used  since  poor  Mr.  Hereford  was  here," 

366  y2 


356  DOREEN- 

said  the  housekeeper.  ''  For  weeks  and  weeks  he  lay  here 
in  the  summer,  and  no  one  thought  he  would  pull  through. 
Of  course  it  was  nothing  infectious,  or  we  couldn't  have 
kept  him.  It  was  just  rheumatism  affecting  the  heart,  and 
they  wouldn't  let  him  stir  a  finger.  Then,  when  at  last 
they  allowed  him  to  move,  he  went  down  to  recover  in  the 
South,  near  Castle  Karey,  and  scarcely  had  he  got  back 
here  again  last  week  when,  to  every  one's  astonishment,  he 
was  arrested  early  one  morning  in  this  very  room,  and  taken 
off  to  Kilmainham." 

"  And  since  then,"  said  Doreen,  eagerly,  "  have  you  heard 
nothing  ?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  said  the  housekeeper.  "Everyone  thinks 
it  very  hard  measure  that  he  should  be  arrested  just  for 
a  couple  of  speeches.  Oh,  the  feeling  was  very  strong 
indeed  about  it.  Have  you  everything  you  wish,  Miss 
O'Ryan  ?  " 

"Everything,  thank  you,"  said  poor  Doreen,  dropping 
into  the  nearest  chair  the  moment  she  was  alone. 

In  this  very  room,  then,  he  had  lain  for  weeks  and  weeks 
at  death's  door,  and  she  had  never  known  it !  She,  whose 
right  it  might  have  been  to  nurse  him,  had  been  far  away, 
and  he  had  been  left  to  the  care  of  hired  attendants.  He 
had  come  to  her  country  to  study  the  Irish  problem,  to  try 
if  possible  to  help  in  this  desperate  crisis,  and  for  reward 
he  had  been  thrust  into  Kilmainham.  How  she  lived 
through  that  night's  concert,  and  the  long,  long  hours  dur- 
ing which  she  lay  in  restless  wakefulness  in  the  room  where 
Max  had  passed  through  so  much,  she  never  knew.  But 
at  length  Friday  morning  dawned,  and  with  the  dawn  a  great 
hope  rose  in  her  heart.  She  was  to  see  Max  and  at  last,  at 
last,  she  should  disburden  her  mind  of  that  secret  she  had 
been  so  loath  to  have  entrusted  to  her.  Surely  now  he  would 
understand  her,  and  believe  in  her  once  more  ?  Her  spirits 
rose  as  she  said  good-bye  to  Ferrier,  and  to  Sardoni  and 
his  wife.  They  were  all  starting  for  Cork  by  the  morning 
express,  and  Doreen  was  to  follow  by  the  three  o'clock  train. 


DOREEN  357 

"And  whatever  happens,  don't  miss  that,"  said  Ferrier, 
"or  the  Cork  people  will  never  forgive  you.  As  it  is,  we 
shall  have  to  alter  the  programme,  for  the  train  isn't  due 
till  8.25,  and  there  is  no  saying  how  late  it  may  be." 

"  I  will  not  miss  it,"  said  Doreen.  "  You  may  trust  me. 
And  I  shall  take  a  carriage  to  myself,  and  perform  my  toilet 
en  route.  Don't  be  afraid.  I  shall  turn  up  all  right,  you 
will  see." 

''  Now  what  plan  has  she  got  in  her  head  ?  "  said  Sardoni, 
as  they  drove  away  from  the  Shelbourne.  "  Is  she  going 
to  pour  forth  the  vials  of  her  wrath  on  the  head  of  the 
Chief  Secretary?" 

"  Or  does  she  mean  to  join  the  Ladies'  Land  League  ?  " 
said  Ferrier.     "  That  wouldn't  at  all  surprise  me." 

"  Why,  how  dull  you  two  men  are,"  said  Domenica,  with 
a  smile.  "  Do  you  think  either  of  those  plans  would  make 
her  eyes  shine,  and  light  up  her  whole  face  with  hope? 
Depend  upon  it  she  has  some  scheme  for  setting  Mr. 
Hereford  free." 

Ferrier  made  an  ejaculation  of  dismay.  Sardoni  gave 
a  long  whistle.  "  Oh,  perverse  sex ! "  he  said.  "  How  much 
better  to  be  free  from  such  a  lover  than  to  set  him  free." 

"I  think,"  said  Domenica,  quietly,  "that  you  are  some- 
what hard  on  Mr.  Hereford.  Remember  that  you  have 
never  heard  his  side  of  the  story." 

Meanwhile  Doreen,  in  a  state  of  feverish  anxiety,  packed 
her  concert  dress  into  a  small  valise,  made  all  her  prepara- 
tions, took  leave  of  the  kindly  housekeeper,  and,  as  the  hour 
approached  when  her  order  permitted  her  to  go  to  Kilmain- 
ham,  drove  from  the  Shelbourne,  bidding  the  man  to  stop  at 
a  flower  shop  in  Grafton  Street.  In  old  times,  she  remem- 
bered that  it  used  to  please  her  father  that  they  should 
wear  flowers  when  they  came  to  see  him  in  prison.  It  was 
strictly  against  regulations  to  give  them  to  the  prisoners, 
but  no  one  could  object  to  what  a  visitor  actually  wore. 
The  spray  of  white  chrysanthemums  and  green  Killaruey 
fern  pleased  her ;  and,  as  she  fastened  it  in.  her  dark  travel- 


35^  DOREEAT 

ling-dress,  it  took  her  back  to  the  green  and  white  badges  at 
the  Firdale  election.  Her  spirits  rose  as  they  drove  along 
the  quays,  past  the  shabby  old  houses,  which  so  visibly 
deplored  the  loss  of  the  Irish  Parliament,  past  the  familiar 
river;  then  to  the  left,  on  and  on,  until  the  grim,  gray 
boundary  wall  of  the  prison  came  into  sight.  But  her 
heart  sank  somehow,  and  a  great  oppression  seized  her  as 
the  cab  drew  up  beside  the  gaunt  iron  railings  and  outer 
gate.  She  sprang  out  quickly,  bade  the  driver  to  wait  for 
her,  and,  walking  up  to  the  main  door,  rang  for  admittance. 
The  same  two  dragons,  which  she  remembered  as  a  little 
child,  were  still  writhing  together  in  the  stone-work  above 
the  doorway.  A  friendly-looking  warder  appeared  in  answer 
to  her  summons,  and  bade  her  wait  for  a  minute  in  the  vesti- 
bule. There  was  something  horribly  depressing  in  the 
place,  with  its  dreary  flagstones  and  its  comfortless  walls, 
which  somehow  looked  only  the  worse  for  a  frightful  blue 
dado,  with  a  niggling,  mean  little  pattern  bordering  it  by 
way  of  ornament.  On  the  floor  lay  a  most  uninviting  heap 
of  prisoners'  clothes  and  boots.  At  desks  by  the  wall  large, 
business-like  books  lay  open.  Above  an  inner  door,  leading 
into  the  jail,  there  was  a  clock,  at  which  Doreen  looked  sev- 
eral times  as  she  waited,  to  make  sure  that  its  hands  really 
moved.  The  waiting  seemed  endless.  At  last,  however,  a 
warder  appeared,  and,  through  fifteen  doors,  all  of  which 
had  to  be  solemnly  unlocked,  she  was  escorted  to  the  visitors' 
room.  Here  she  had  to  wait  for  another  five  minutes,  while 
Max  was  informed  that  she  had  come  to  see  him. 

It  happened  that  day  that  Max  was  more  than  usually 
depressed.  He  had  received  a  particularly  kind  letter  from 
Miriam.  She  had  written  in  her  good-natured,  cousinly  way 
to  cheer  him  up,  and  to  amuse  him  with  the  remarks  of  the 
rest  of  the  family  with  regard  to  his  imprisonment.  They 
all  seemed  convinced  that  it  must  have  been  a  mistaken 
arrest,  and  confidently  expected  him  to  be  soon  at  large 
again.  Miriam  reminded  him  that  they  were  to  winter  at 
Biarritz,  and  the  General  sent  a  cordial  invitation  to  him  to 


DOREEN-  359 

join  them  there.  To  one  in  his  position  the  sense  of  kin- 
ship appealed  very  strongly,  and  the  thought  of  the  free 
foreign  life  contrasted  miserably  enough  \Vith  the  gloom  of 
his  present  surroundings.  He  sat  at  his  table,  writing  an 
answer  to  Miriam's  letter,  chafing  at  the  thought  that  it 
would  be  read  by  the  governor  of  Kilmainham,  and  miser- 
ably reflecting  that  he  had  only  been  a  week  in  jail,  though, 
each  day  seemed  like  a  month.  And  the  more  he  brooded 
over  his  misery,  the  more  bitter  became  his  thoughts  of 
Doreen,  by  whose  ill-timed  words  he  must  have  been  be- 
trayed. A  sort  of  fury  rose  within  him  as  he  vividly 
recalled  her  look  and  tone  and  touch,  as  she  drew  him  on 
that  last  morning  to  the  ottoman,  and  tried,  with  all  the 
skill  she  possessed,  to  turn  his  thoughts  from  the  subject 
she  wished  to  avoid.  The  noisy  opening  of  his  door  made 
him  start. 

"  Miss  O'Ryan  is  waiting  to  see  you  in  the  visitors'  room," 
said  the  warder. 

The  pen  dropped  from  Max  Hereford's  hand.  "Miss 
O'Ryan ! "  he  repeated,  as  if  unable  to  believe  that  he  heard 
rightly. 

"Miss  Doreen  O'Ryan  it  will  be.  The  public  singer," 
said  the  warder. 

In  a  moment  Max  felt  himself  torn  by  conflicting  emo- 
tions. Wild  desire  to  see  Doreen  and  speak  to  her  once 
more,  wrath  at  her  betrayal,  amazement  at  her  temerity  in 
coming  thus  to  see  him,  a  conviction  that  she  wanted  to 
make  some  vain  explanation,  —  in  some  way  to  excuse  her- 
self, —  a  quick  perception  that  any  allusion  tc  the  Lougli 
Lee  disaster  might  do  him  untold  harm,  falling,  as  it  must 
fall,  on  other  ears,  and  a  thoroughly  English  horror  of 
going  through  any  scene  with  the  girl  who  had  once  been 
betrothed  to  him,  while  other  eyes  were  looking  on.  What 
could  either  of  them  say  while  that  insolent  warder  stood 
by  ?  And  yet  ?  And  yet  ?  How  could  he  refuse  when 
his  heart  cried  out  to  see  her  ?  It  was  so  exactly  like  his 
brave,  impetuous,  rash  Doreen  to  come  thus  unheralded, 


360  "  DOREEIV 

risking  everything  in  a  generous,  large-hearted  way.  He 
could  no  longer  doubt  that  she  loved  him,  and  her  love 
drew  him  strongly,  almost  irresistibly.  But  as  O'CarroU 
had  shrewdly  discovered.  Max,  on  his  way  to  Kilmainham, 
had  taken  a  decided  step  downwards,  and  now  the  fiends' 
voices  which  he  had  listened  to  and  encouraged  and  fostered 
all  the  week,  rose  to  combat  that  thought  of  Doreen's  love. 

"You  fool !  "  they  cried ;  "  you  weak  fool !  You  are  going, 
after  all,  to  be  hoodwinked  again  by  a  woman !  You  are 
going  to  listen  to  the  voice  that  has  caused  all  your  mis- 
fortunes, and  to  be  coaxed  by  a  smooth  Irish  tongue  into 
bondage  once  more." 

"  Come  along !  "  said  the  warder,  roughly.  "  I  can't  be 
kept  here  all  day.  I'm  not  a  family  butler  to  be  dancing 
attendance  on  you.  Are  you  coming,  or  are  you  not 
coming  ?  " 

"I  am  not  coming,"  said  Max,  with  a  haughty  disdain  in 
his  tone  which  abashed  and  yet  angered  the  man. 

"  Am  I  to  say  that  to  the  lady  ?  "  asked  the  warder. 

"  Say  that  I  am  sorry  Miss  O'Eyan  has  had  the  trouble 
of  coming,  but  that  I  must  decline  to  have  an  interview 
with  her." 

With  that  he  took  up  his  pen  and  began  to  write  again. 
The  man  looked  at  him  for  a  few  moments  in  dead  silence, 
as  if  musing  on  some  problem  that  entirely  baffled  him. 

"What  are  you  waiting  for?"  said  Max,  looking  up 
sharply.     "  I  thought  you  were  in  haste  to  be  gone." 

At  that  the  warder  turned  on  his  heel,  clanging  the  door 
noisily  after  him.  And  Max,  once  morre  alone,  flung  down 
his  pen  and  began  to  walk  to  and  fro  like  a  caged  lion, 
until  at  last,  worn  out  by  excitement  and  fatigue,  deadly 
faintness  stole  over  him,  and  all  he  could  do  was  to  grope 
his  way  to  the  bed,  feeling  as  if  his  last  hour  had  come. 

The  warder  returned  to  the  visitors'  room,  and  as  the 
door  opened,  Doreen  started  up  eagerly.  Her  blank  look 
when  she  saw  that  the  man  was  alone  appealed  to  him,  but 
it  also  stimulated  his  curiosity. 


DOREEN  361 

"Mr.  Hereford  says  he  is  sorry  you  troubled  to  come, 
miss/'  he  repeated,  "  but  that  he  must  decline  to  have  an 
interview  with  you." 

"I  think  you  cannot  have  made  him  understand,"  she 
said.     "  Tell  him  it  is  Doreen  O'Ryan." 

"  Oh,  I  told  him,  miss.  He  understands  fast  enough.  Of 
course,  I  knew  your  face  well  enough  from  the  pictures,  and 
I  told  him  it  was  Miss  Doreen  O'Ryan,  the  public  singer. 
He'll  not  see  you,  miss.  He  takes  a  very  high  tone.  Some 
of  the  suspects  they're  pleasant  enough,  but  he  takes  a 
haughty  line  that  don't  at  all  pay  in  prison." 

The  room  swam  before  Doreen's  eyes,  the  floor  seemed  to 
heave  beneath  her  feet,  but  a  consciousness  that  the  warder 
was  keenly  scrutinizing  her  made  her  struggle  to  keep  up 
appearances  for  the  sake  of  the  man  she  loved. 

"  Then  let  me  out,  please,"  she  said,  steadying  her  voice 
by  an  effort,  which  gave  a  curious  dignity  to  her  manner. 
"  As  Mr.  Hereford  is  unable  to  speak  to  me  this  morning, 
there  is  nothing  to  wait  for." 

"  You're  a  plucked  one,"  thought  the  warder  to  himself,  as 
he  escorted  her  back  to  the  vestibule,  and  replied  respect- 
fully enough  to  her  farewell.  But  when  the  kindly-looking 
doorkeeper  had  called  her  driver,  who  was  engaged  in  an  ani- 
mated discussion  with  a  friend  at  the  corner,  Doreen  sud- 
denly felt  her  knees  double  up  beneath  her,  and  was  forced 
to  clutch  for  support  at  his  arm. 

"Sure  and  it  will  be  faint  that  you  are  feeling,  miss," 
he  said,  with  ready  sympathy.  "  Wait  and  let  me  get  you 
some  water." 

"  The  fresh  air  will  be  enough,"  faltered  Doreen,  deter- 
mined not  to  yield  before  she  was  out  of  Kilmainham.  "  If 
you  would  just  help  me  to  the  cab.  The  prison  seemed  so 
—  airless."  She  struggled  pathetically  to  the  last  to  throw 
dust  in  the  eyes  of  all  who  might  gossip  about  Max.  "  Tell 
the  man  to  drive  to  Kingsbridge  station.  Thank  you  for 
your  help." 

"  Qod  save  you,  kindly,"  said  the  doorkeeper,  in  response 


362  DOREEN 

to  her  farewell,  and  the  sweet  old  Irish  phrase  fell  com- 
fortingly on  her  ears  as  the  cab  moved  off.  But  when  they 
arrived  at  Kingsbridge,  Doreen  did  not  stir.  She  knew 
nothing  at  all  for  the  next  half-hour,  and  when  she  strug- 
gled back  to  consciousness  and  found  herself  lying  at  full 
length  on  one  of  the  waiting-room  benches,  she  imagined 
for  a  moment  that  some  railway  accident  must  have  hap- 
pened. 

"Sure  thin,  sir,  there's  no  need  to  be  sending  for  the 
doctor  at  all,  at  all,  for  the  lady  is  coming  to  herself 
intirely,"  said  a  woman's  voice  with  a  rich  Dublin  brogue. 

Doreen  quickly  realized  where  she  was,  and  a  remem- 
brance of  her  promise  to  Ferrier  darted  back  into  her  mind. 

"  Am  I  too  late  for  the  three  o'clock  train  to  Cork  ?  " 
she  asked,  looking  up  at  the  little  group  surrounding  her. 

It.  was  some  comfort  to  be  in  the  midst  of  her  own 
people,  and  their  keen  interest  and  active  sympathy  touched 
her.  It  appeared  that  there  was  plenty  of  time  to  spare 
before  the  train  started,  and  one  saw  to  her  luggage,  and 
another  took  her  ticket,  and  a  third  brought  tea,  and  cakes, 
and  fruit,  and  the  porters  quarrelled  for  the  privilege  of 
waiting  on  her. 

She  would  gladly  have  concealed  her  identity,  greatly 
dreading  lest  a  paragraph  alluding  to  her  visit  to  Kilmain- 
ham  might  get  into  the  papers,  but  her  face  was  too  well 
known  and  she  was  too  much  loved  in  Ireland  to  escape 
detection;  and,  after  all,  the  kindly  attentions  staved  off 
for  a  time  the  full  realization  of  her  misery,  which  broke 
upon  her  overwhelmingly  when,  later  on,  she  found  her- 
self alone  in  a  railway  carriage,  with  a  long,  weary  journey 
before  her  and  with  nothing  to  distract  her  thoughts. 

At  first  she  was  too  utterly  broken  down  by  her  lover's 
want  of  trust  to  have  room  for  any  other  thought.  Max 
must,  indeed,  think  the  very  worst  of  her,  if  he  could  so 
cruelly  refuse  to  see  her  at  such  a  time.  His  love  must, 
indeed,  be  dead  if  he  could  inflict  upon  her  a  wound  so 
deep,  an  insult  so  intolerable.     And  here  she  broke  down 


DOREEN  363 

hopelessly,  sobbing  as  though  her  heart  would  break.  She 
had  hoped  so  much  from  the  interview,  had  longed  so 
terribly  to  see  him  once  more ;  and  they  'had  actually  been 
under  the  same  roof,  and  he  had  merely  sent  her  that  stiff, 
formal  refusal. 

At  last  a  gleam  of  light  broke  in  upon  her  darkness. 
She  had  not  realized  before  that  in  all  probability  the 
warder  would  have  been  present  throughout  their  inter- 
view. The  suspects  were  treated  leniently  enough,  and  she 
had  assumed  that  she  would  see  Max  alone ;  but  now  she 
realized  that  this  was  hardly  probable.  Perhaps  he  had 
refused  to  see  her  on  that  account ;  and  as  she  remembered 
the  inquisitive  eyes  of  the  Avarder,  and  recollected  how  try- 
ing their  meeting  must  in  any  case  have  been,  she  began  to 
comfort  herself  with  this  solution  of  the  matter. 

The  train  stopped  just  then  at  Portarlington.  She  hast- 
ily dried  her  eyes,  composed  herself,  and  even  tried  heroi- 
cally to  eat ;  for  was  it  not  four  o'clock,  and  how  could  she 
hope  to  have  any  voice  that  night  if  she  reached  the  con- 
cert hall  faint  and  famished  ? 

Then  she  began  bravely  to  consider  what  was  to  be  done 
next.  She  could  not  write  to  Max,  and  he  refused  to  see 
her.  How  was  she  to  avail  herself  of  Desmond's  permis- 
sion to  reveal  the  truth  when  any  difficulty  or  danger  arose  ? 
To  her  fancy  the  engine  seemed  grimly  to  respond  to  the 
question  by  ceaselessly  thumping  the  refrain  of  an  old 
satirical  ballad  about  one  of  the  "hanging  judges,"  which 
her  father  used  to  sing :  — 

"  Hark,  forward,  Kilmainliam  !    Hark,  forward,  Kilmainham  I 
We'll  hang  'em,  we'll  hang  'em,  before  we  arraign  'em  !  " 

Well,  it  was  impossible  to  reach  her  lover,  and  therefore 
she  herself  must  speak  out  plainly  to  those  in  authority. 
Should  she  write  to  the  Chief  Secretary  ?  A  letter  might 
be  thrown  on  one  side,  or  might  be  opened  by  other  hands. 
Should  she  go  to  see,  him  ?  She  shuddered  at  the  idea ; 
for,  not  unnaturally,  he  was  a  man  she  detested,  seeinoj  him 


364  DOREEN 

not  as  he  really  was,  —  an  honest,  good  man,  struggling 
conscientiously  to  do  what  seemed  to  him  right,  meaning 
well  by  Ireland,  but  blinded  by  the  atmosphere  of  official- 
ism surrounding  him,  and  unable  to  get  a  true  view  of  the 
heart  of  the  Irish  nation.  She  saw  him  inevitably  as  the 
tyrant  who  had  thrown  into  prison  hundreds  and  hundreds 
of  her  fellow-countrymen  without  any  trial  whatever,  and 
who  had  re-consigned  her  father's  best  friend,  Donal  Moore, 
to  all  the  horrors  of  penal  servitude.  To  go  to  him  would, 
she  thought,  be  useless.     To  whom,  then,  should  she  turn  ? 

A  saying  of  her  father's  returned  to  her  mind.  " '  When 
in  doubt,  consult  the  best  authorities '  is  as  true  a  rule  of 
life  as  the  old  rule  at  whist,  '■  When  in  doubt,  play  trumps.' " 

She  would  go  straight  to  the  very  highest  quarter :  she 
would  see  the  Prime  Minister.  He  was  a  man  she  deeply 
reverenced  for  his  personal  goodness,  and  she  did  not  cher- 
ish towards  him  that  feeling  of  bitter  resentment  which 
she  felt  towards  the  Chief  Secretary.  She  saw  that  the 
only  day  on  which  it  would  be  possible  for  her  to  go  on 
such  an  errand  would  be  the  following  Sunday;  and,  as 
Doreen  never  let  the  grass  grow  under  her  feet,  she  promptly 
opened  her  travelling-bag,  and  began  then  and  there  to  fill 
up  a  telegram  form,  laughing  to  herself  a  little  even  then, 
in  spite  of  all  her  troubles.  "I  am  a  bold  sort  of  girl 
to  dare  to  send  a  telegram,  asking  for  an  interview  with 
the  Prime  Minister!  I  could  not  do  it  for  the  sake  of 
any  one  but  Max.  What  shall  I  do  if  he  refuses  to  grant 
me  a  hearing  ?  I  believe  I  would  go  to  the  Queen  herself. 
I  must  send  this  off  from  Thurles,  and  prepay  the  answer 
to  the  Midland  Hotel,  Birmingham.  What  will  they  think 
of  my  'matter  of  great  importance'?  Will  they  imagine 
I  have  discovered  some  conspiracy  at  Thurles  ?  (they'll  pro- 
nounce that  as  if  it  rhymed  with  curls,  over  in  England). 
Will  it  be  a  matter  of  but  secondary  importance  to  them  — 
this  releasing  of  one  unjustly  imprisoned  Englishman  ?  No, 
if  only  I  can  tell  the  whole  story  as  it  happened,  I  think 
the^  will  see  it  as  X  do,  and  will  forgive  my  audacity," 


DOREEJSr  365 

The  little  excitement  of  sending  off  the  telegram  revived 
her;  and  between  Thurles  and  Limel-ick  Junction,  she 
whiled  away  the  time  by  dressing  for  the  evening.  It  was 
a  cheerless  proceeding  to  don  rose-coloured  silken  robes  in 
a  railway  carriage  by  the  fading  October  light ;  but  some- 
thing in  the  novelty  and  absurdity  of  the  arrangement 
amused  her  a  little,  and  it  was  not  until  darkness  had 
fallen  on  the  landscape  that  blank  depression  fell  upon  her 
once  more.  She  leant  back  wearily  in  her  corner,  her  train 
carefully  pinned  up,  her  long  fur  cloak  wrapped  closely 
about  her,  and  her  thoughts  once  more  dwelling  on  the 
cruel  shock  she  had  received  at  Kilmainham.  Each  little 
station  they  stopped  at  looked  more  dreary  than  the  last, 
and  the  Cork  station  the  worst  of  all,  as  she  stepped,  shiv- 
ering with  cold  and  fatigue,  from  the  warm  railway  carriage 
on  to  the  dingy  platform.  She  could  have  cried  with  joy 
when  she  caught  sight  of  two  old  friends  who  had  known 
her  since  her  childhood.  To  be  warmly  greeted  and  made 
much  of,  not  because  of  her  voice,  but  because  she  was 
Patrick  O'Ryan's  daughter,  cheered  her  as  nothing  else 
could  have  done ;  and  she  got  through  her  songs  better 
than  might  have  been  expected. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

"  So  let  him  wait  God's  instant  men  call  years. 
Meantime  hold  hard  by  truth  and  his  great  soul. 
Do  out  the  duty." 

R.  Bkowning. 

"You  don't  look  mucli  rested,  my  dear/'  observed  Do- 
menica  Sardoni,  when  Doreen  appeared  the  next  morning, 
in  time  for  the  train  to  Waterford. 

"  Indeed,"  she  replied,  laughing,  "  I  am  like  the  man  who 
said  he  had  passed  a  wretched  night,  for  he  '  couldn't  slape 
for  draiming.'  By  the  bye,  Ferrier  tells  me  that  most  of 
you  have  decided  to  sleep  to-night  at  Milford,  but  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  go  straight  through  to  Birmingham ; 
I  want  to  go  further  still,  if  possible.  Don't  tell  the  rest  of 
the  world ;  but  it  was  no  manner  of  use  my  waiting  behind 
you  in  Dublin  yesterday,  and  now  my  only  hope  of  doing 
the  work  I  want  to  do,  is  to  get  an  interview  with  the  one 
Englishman  who  might  help  me." 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  said  Domenica. 

"  Well,  tell  it  not  in  Gath,  but  it  is  the  Prime  Minister." 

"  Why,  my  friend,  you  will  have  to  go  all  across  England 
to  reach  him,  and  already  you  look  tired  out.  Reflect  what 
is  before  you :  the  journey  to  Waterford,  the  concert  at  two 
o'clock,  a  scramble  to  get  off  by  the  five  o'clock  steamer, 
a  long  passage  to  Milford,  where  we  don't  arrive  till  an  hour 
and  a  half  after  midnight,  and  then  a  most  wearisome  jour- 
ney through  the  night  to  Birmingham,  and  on  much  further 


DOREEN  367 

afterwards,  —  why,  you  will  not  get  therfe  till  late  in  the 
afternoon." 

"  And  if  I  had  to  walk  there  barefoot,  I  would  go,"  said 
Doreen,  with  that  touch  of  sturdy  resolution  which  re- 
minded one  from  time  to  time  that  beneath  all  the  light- 
hearted  sweetness  of  her  nature  lay  the  unfaltering  courage 
which  had  led  her  progenitors  to  face  imprisonment,  exile, 
and  torture. 

"  If  the  crossing  is  not  very  bad,  I  have  a  good  mind  to 
come  on  with  you  to  Birmingham,"  said  Domenica,  reflec- 
tively ;  "  the  St.  Pierres,  I  know,  will  spend  the  night  at 
New  Milford,  and  I  don't  quite  like  your  travelling  all 
through  the  night  alone.  Besides,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  should 
much  like  to  go  to  the  Oratory.  I  must  see  if  I  can  persuade 
my  husband." 

Doreen  was  very  grateful  to  the  kindly  Maltese  singer, 
and  Sardoni's  unfailing  good  spirits  cheered  her  not  a  little, 
when,  worn  and  weary  after  the  all-night  journey  and  the 
miserably  bad  crossing,  they  arrived  on  Sunday  morning  at 
Birmingham.  She  inquired  promptly  for  her  telegram,  and 
opened  it  with  trembling  fingers.  The  Prime  Minister  would 
see  her  that  afternoon.  Her  breath  came  quickly,  her  face 
flushed ;  she  began  to  realize  what  an  ordeal  lay  before  her, 
and  the  prospect  did  not  look  any  less  terrible  when  Sardoni 
had  seen  her  off  at  the  station,  and  she  was  left  alone  for 
another  tedious  journey.  How  was  she  to  tell  that  strange 
story  of  long  ago,  how  explain  it  all  briefly  and  yet  lucidly, 
to  one  whose  time  was  so  precious  ? 

As  she  drove  up  to  the  stately  country  house,  she  felt 
positively  ill  with  nervous  anxiety,  and  nothing  but  the 
habit  of  self-control  she  had  acquired  during  her  public  life 
could  have  enabled  her  to  walk  composedly  across  the  en- 
trance hall  into  the  great  drawing-room  to  which  she  was 
ushered.  Then  suddenly,  all  her  fears  vanished,  for  the 
most  homelike  scene  greeted  her ;  beside  the  hearth  a  lady 
with  a  sweet,  motherly  face  presided  at  an  afternoon-tea- 
table,  while  the  Prime  Minister  —  of  whom  she  had  some- 


368  DOREEN 

times  thought  hard  things  —  was  playing  with  a  little 
fair-haired  grandchild,  who  chatted  to  him  with  the  loving 
freedom  of  perfect  trust. 

He  came  forward  to  greet  her  with  beautiful  old-world 
courtesy,  making  her  feel  at  once  perfectly  at  ease,  alluding 
to  the  last  Handel  Festival  at  which  he  had  heard  her  sing, 
and  passing  from  that  to  a  discussion  of  the  differences 
between  the  Italian  and  German  schools  of  music,  until  she 
thought  that  never  until  now  had  she  known  what  conver- 
sation really  meant.  And  the  little  child  waited  on  her, 
bringing  her  tea,  and  scones,  and  cakes,  and  the  firelight 
played  on  the  old  family  portraits,  and  on  the  restful,  har- 
monious room,  which  was  so  unlike  the  hotels  she  had  been 
living  in  of  late,  while  her  heart,  which  had  been  starving 
for  Mollie  and  Bride  all  through  the  tour,  and  her  mind 
which  had  longed  impatiently  for  something  a  little  more 
intellectual  than  the  barren,  profitless  talk  of  Terrier's  com- 
pany, felt  wonderfully  stimulated  and  refreshed. 

"  And  now,"  said  the  Prime  Minister,  "  I  will  ask  you  to 
come  to  my  study  that  we  may  talk  over  quietly  the  matter 
you  alluded  to  in  your  telegram.  Most  fortunately,  it  hap- 
pens that  the  Chief  Secretary  is  staying  with  us  for  two 
days ;  and  if,  as  I  presume,  your  business  is  connected  with 
Irish  matters,  I  think  we  shall  do  well  to  call  him  to  our 
counsels." 

Doreen  started  and  blushed.  A  dismayed  look  passed 
over  her  expressive  face. 

'^Is  it  —  "  she  faltered,  "is  it  indeed  necessary?" 

The  Prime  Minister  read  her  thoughts. 

"  Believe  me,"  he  said,  "  you  will  find  him  very  ready  to 
give  a  fair  hearing  to  everything  connected  with  your  coun- 
try. He  is  not  the  ogre  that  some  of  your  countrymen 
paint  him." 

"  I  know  that  many  of  us  have  said  bitter  things  of  him," 
said  Doreen.  "  But "  —  and  here  her  eyes  filled  with  tears 
—  "  it  is  not  easy  to  feel  quite  friendly  towards  those  who 
have  cast  hundreds  of  one's  countrymen  into  prison.     Many 


DOREEN"  369 

of  the  suspects  are  my  personal  friends ;  to  one  of  them  I 
was  for  some  time  betrothed ;  it  is  with  regard  to  his  case 
that  I  have  something  of  importance  to  tell  you." 

The  Prime  Minister  had  listened  with  courteous  and 
sympathetic  attention  to  her  words. 

"  I  can  well  understand  that  your  feeling  towards  us  is 
somewhat  bitter,"  he  said  quietly.  "  I  think  I  have  been 
told  that  your  family  suffered  very  grievously  in  the 
past." 

"  My  great-grandfather  was  a  Wicklow  blacksmith,"  said 
Doreen.  "I  am  very  proud  of  him; — had  he  been  on  the 
Black  List  and  won  a  Peerage  by  a  bribed  vote  for  the 
Union,  I  should  have  despised  him.  He  was  just  a  black- 
smith; and  though  your  soldiers  gave  him  five  hundred 
lashes,  and  that  horrible  torture  they  invented  of  the  pitched 
cap,  he  would  not  reveal  the  names  of  those  customers  for 
whom  he  had  made  pikes.  Later  on,  my  grandfather,  after 
being  hunted  like  a  wild  animal  among  the  mountains,  died  of 
cold  and  privation ;  that  was  in  the  rising  of  '48.  My  father 
died  five  years  ago  from  the  effects  of  penal  servitude.  He 
had  been  concerned  in  the  Fenian  rising.  And  now  it  seems 
that  my  turn  has  come,  and  you  have  thrust  the  man  I  love 
into  prison." 

Her  voice  trembled  as  she  spoke  that  last  sentence,  but 
there  was  a  flash  of  exultation  in  her  blue  eyes.  Her  love 
might  help  Max  now,  and  she  proclaimed  it  frankly  and 
fearlessly. 

The  little  fair-haired  child,  attracted  by  the  musical  voice 
with  its  varying  tones,  came  now  and  leant  against  her  knee ; 
she  turned  to  it  at  once  with  the  look  of  loving  comprehen- 
sion and  tender  sweetness  which  characterizes  a  true  child- 
lover.  The  Prime  Minister  watched  them  for  a  moment  or 
two  in  silence.  His  powerful  face  would  have  formed  a 
grand  subject  for  a  painter ;  but  Doreen  was  watching  the 
little  child,  and  did  not  see  how  grave  thoughts  and  brighter 
hopes  for  the  future  revealed  themselves  on  the  well-known 
features,  like  cloud  and  sunshine  on  an  April  landscape. 


370  DOREEN 

"  If  you  will  excuse  me  for  a  moment,  I  will  speak  with 
the  Chief  Secretary,"  he  said,  disappearing  into  the  adjoining 
room,  and  returning  shortly  with  a  request  that  Doreen  would 
accompany  him.  "Believe  me,  it  is  best  that  we  should 
both  hear  what  you  have  to  say,"  he  remarked  kindly,  as 
without  any  further  demur  she  followed  him.  "  It  will  be 
best  for  Mr.  Hereford,  whose  case  is  known  to  the  Chief 
Secretary." 

Doreen  was  glad  he  had  let  her  perceive  chat  he  knew 
Max  Hereford  was  the  man  she  had  referred  to.  His  chival- 
rous manner  touched  her.  However  much  she  disapproved 
of  his  present  Irish  policy,  it  was  impossible  to  harbour 
against  him  any  sort  of  enmity.  He  led  her  into  a  lamp- 
lit  study,  lined  with  books,  where  a  gray-haired,  careworn 
man  rose  at  their  entrance.  Here,  then,  was  the  Chief  Secre- 
tary, the  man  she  had  hated  with  all  the  strength  of  her 
Keltic  nature ;  here  was  the  man  who,  by  his  own .  con- 
fession, was  ruling  Ireland  as  despotically  as  the  Czar 
ruled  Russia ;  the  man  who,  by  a  mere  stroke  of  his  pen, 
had  proclaimed  the  Land  League  to  be  an  illegal  associa- 
tion ;  the  man  whose  word  was  sufficient  to  cast  into  prison 
any  one  suspected  of  furthering  the  people's  cause,  without 
trial  of  any  description. 

"I  am  glad  to  meet  you.  Miss  O'Eyan,"  he  said,  greet- 
ing her  pleasantly  enough.  "  I  understand  that  you  have 
something  to  tell  us  with  regard  to  the  case  of  Mr.  Max 
Hereford.  I  learn  that  you  visited  him  last  Friday,  at 
Kilmainham,  but  that  he  declined  to  see  you.  Is  that  a 
fact  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  taking  the  chair  which  the  Prime 
Minister  drew  closer  to  the  hearth  for  her,  "  he  refused  to 
see  me." 

Her  voice  quivered  a  little,  but  her  eyes  were  clear  as 
they  looked  straight  up  at  the  Chief  Secretary.  She  was 
comforted  greatly  to  find  that  this  ferocious  tyrant,  this 
brutal  oppressor,  as  she  had  been  accustomed  to  regard 
him,  was  evidently  the  most  honest  and  straightforward  of 


DOREEN-  371 

men ;  one  who  would  spare  himself  no  pS,ins  in  unravelling 
the  case  in  hand. 

"  May  I  ask  whether  there  was  any  special  motive  in 
your  visit  ?  "  said  the  Prime  Minister. 

"  I  had  permission  to  set  Mr.  Hereford  free  from  an  oath 
which  had  bound  us  both  to  keep  silence  with  regard  to  the 
fate  of  Mr.  James  Foxell,  Lord  Byfield's  agent,  who  disap- 
peared many  years  ago." 

For  a  moment  there  was  dead  silence  in  the  room. 
Doreen  could  hear  only  the  beating  of  her  own  heart,  and 
the  soft  flickering  of  the  flames  on  the  hearth. 

"  Who  exacted  such  an  oath  from  you,  and  who  set  you 
free?"  said  the  Chief  Secretary,  his  keen  eyes  earnestly 
searching  her  face. 

"  The  man  who  was  responsible  for  Mr.  Foxell's  death," 
she  replied. 

"  Then  he  was  murdered  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  would  not  be  considered  murder,  but  man- 
slaughter. May  I  tell  you  the  whole  story  as  briefly  as 
I  can  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  greatly  obliged  if  you  would  do  so ;  but,  pardon 
me,  you  must  have  been  very  young  at  the  time.  Miss  O'Ryan." 

"I  was  twelve  years  old,"  she  replied.  "But  I  can 
remember  every  tiniest  detail  of  that  day,  —  that  horrible 
day."  She  shuddered,  even  now,  at  the  remembrance. 
"  Max  Hereford  was  a  boy  of  eighteen,  and  his  mother  had 
taken  Castle  Karey,  that  summer,  for  two  months.  We 
were  staying  close  by;  it  was  just  before  my  father  was 
released  from  Portland  Prison,  and  the  Herefords  were  very 
kind  to  us,  taking  me  in  their  boat,  and,  on  this  particular 
day,  bringing  a  pony  for  me,  that  we  might  cross  the 
mountains  to  Lough  Lee.  Generally,  Miriam  Hereford  was 
with  us,  but  on  this  day  I  went  alone  with  Max  and  his 
tutor,  Mr.  John  Desmond.  Perhaps  you  do  not  know 
Lough  Lee,  —  it  is  a  most  wild  and  dreary  lake ;  but,  at  the 
far  end  of  it,  there  used  to  be  a  little  cabin  in  which  lived 
an  old  man  named  Larry  Cassidy." 


372  DOREEN' 

"  I  have  all  the  particulars  with  regard  to  old  Cassidy,'* 
said  the  Chief  Secretary,  referring  to  a  note-book.  ''He 
was  very  harshly  evicted.  It  was  a  particularly  cruel  case ; 
but  all  that  happened  in  the  time  of  Mr.  Foxell's  successor." 

"Yes/'  said  Doreen,  "we  learnt  about  that  afterwards.  But 
what  the  new  agent  performed,  Foxell  threatened.  It  was 
all,  you  remember,  about  a  potato  patch  that  the  old  man 
had  made  himself,  with  the  greatest  pains,  out  of  a  disused 
stone  quarry.  We  were  close  by  the  cabin,  in  the  boat,  and 
heard  the  agent  cruelly  abusing  poor  Larry ;  he  was  a  very 
old,  infirm  man,  and  he  cried  most  piteously.  It  makes  my 
blood  boil  now  to  think  of  it.  Mr.  Desmond  sprang  on 
shore  and  began  to  remonstrate  with  Mr.  Foxell;  Max 
Hereford,  too,  landed,  but  told  me  to  wait  in  the  boat 
because  the  agent  was  in  such  a  violent  temper.  I  could 
see  from  where  I  was  all  that  happened.  Max  went  to 
speak  to  the  old  woman  by  the  cabin  door.  I  could  not  hear 
what  he  said,  but  he  was  evidently  trying  to  console  her ; 
but  all  that  passed  between  the  agent  and  Mr.  Desmond  and 
Larry  I  heard  distinctly,  — the  poor  old  man  beseeching  that 
the  house  might  not  be  pulled  down  and  the  land  he  had 
made  snatched  from  him,  and  Foxell  brutally  abusing  and 
threatening  him,  and  John  Desmond  angrily  declaring  that 
he  would  expose  the  case  in  the  English  papers.  Their 
voices  got  louder  and  louder,  and  the  agent  at  last,  losing 
all  control  over  himself,  seized  old  Larry  by  the  collar  and 
seemed  about  to  strike  him,  when  Mr.  Desmond  sprang  at 
him  like  a  tiger,  and  the  agent  turned  from  Larry  and  fought 
with  the  tutor.  It  was  a  horrible  sight.  They  seemed  not 
like  men,  but  like  wild  beasts  :  I  am  sure  that  for  the  time 
Mr.  Desmond  was  out  of  his  mind.  Max  Hereford  came 
hurrying  down  from  the  cabin  door  and  remonstrated  with 
his  tutor.  I  can't  remember  the  exact  words,  but  I  know 
that  he  begged  him  to  leave  Foxell  and  to  help  Larry  in 
some  other  way.  But  the  two  men  seemed  not  to  hear  him, 
and  every  moment  they  drew  nearer  to  the  edge  of  the  over- 
hanging rock.     At  last  I  saw  the  agent's  hand  drop  suddenly 


DOREElSr  373 

from  the  tutor's  throat,  and  he  fell  backwards;  his  face  was 
dark,  almost  purple;  he  splashed  straight  down  into  the 
lough.  I  sat  there  in  the  boat,  almost  stupefied  by  the  hor- 
rible sight;  but  Max  came  plunging  down  between  the 
arbutus  trees  and  leaped  in  and  snatched  up  the  oars,  say- 
ing, '  Steer  to  the  place  where  he  sank ! '  I  had  hardly  taken 
my  eyes  from  the  spot,  and  the  being  forced  to  move  and 
to  do  something  seemed  to  bring  back  my  senses ;  and  then '' 
—  she  turned  pale  at  the  remembrance  —  "as  we  looked 
down  steadily  at  the  water  I  saw  that  awful,  distorted  face 
rise  once  more.  Max  leaned  over  the  boat  and  tried  desper- 
ately to  grip  hold  of  the  body,  but  the  hair  was  short  and 
slippery  with  the  water;  it  slid  through  his  fingers,  and 
though  we  waited,  the  body  never  rose  again.  When  Max 
said,  ^  It  would  have  been,  no  use ;  he  was  quite  dead,'  I 
began  to  think  that  Mr.  Desmond  would  be  sent  to  prison, 
or  perhaps  hung  for  murder,  and  we  both  agreed  that  he  had 
looked  for  the  time  quite  mad.  There  had  been  a  most 
strange,  wild  gleam  in  his  eyes  which  we  had  both  noticed. 
Then  we  landed  and  talked  things  over  in  the  little  cabin ; 
Mr.  Desmond  seemed  half  stupefied.  I  remember  that  old 
Larry  burnt  the  agent's  stick,  saying  that  it  was  the  only 
thing  left  to  tell  tales,  and  then  he  and  his  wife,  of  their 
own  accord,  swore  by  the  cross  of  Christ,  crossing  their  fore- 
fingers in  the  old  Irish  fashion,  that  they  would  never  speak 
a  word  of  what  had  passed  that  day.  Later  on  Max  Here- 
ford and  I  made  the  same  vow.  That  evening  the  tutor  was 
seized  with  a  sharp  attack  of  brain  fever.  Max  nursed  him 
through  it,  but  he  was  helped  by  his  valet,  a  Frenchman 
named  Baptiste  Charpentier,  who  professed  to  understand 
hardly  any  English.  This  man  remained  in  Mr.  Hereford's 
service  for  several  years,  and  was  dismissed  at  a  moment's 
notice  because  he  was  found  reading  his  master's  private 
letters.  We  kept  our  oath  of  secrecy  with  absolute  fidelity, 
but  once  when  I  was  staying  with  the  Herefords  at  Monk- 
ton  Verney,  Max  and  I  spoke  together  of  what  had  passed 
that  day,  and  I  was  alarmed  to  find  the  French  valet  in  the 


374  DORE^I^ 

shrubbery,  and  fear  that  he  may  have  overheard  a  few 
words." 

"What  had  become  of  Mr.  Desmond  all  this  time?" 
asked  the  Chief  Secretary. 

"  We  had  lost  sight  of  him  altogether,  when  one  evening 
last  June,  while  singing  in  St.  James'  Hall,  a  child  handed 
me  a  bouquet  in  which  I  found  this  note."  She  paused  for 
a  moment  while  her  two  auditors  read  Desmond's  brief 
lines. 

"Perhaps,"  she  said,  colouring  vividly,  "you  will  blame 
me  for  going  to  such  a  place  at  such  a  time,  but  I  was  be- 
trothed to  Mr.  Hereford,  and  it  seemed  to  me  simply  a 
thing  that  had  to  be  done.  From  Mr.  Desmond  I  learnt 
that  private  detectives  were  watching  every  movement  my 
fianc4  took,  and  that  they  were  also  trying  their  very  best 
to  discover  his  own  whereabouts.  The  widow  of  James 
Foxell  found  the  money,  and  Baptiste,  the  French  valet, 
was  her  tool.  Mr.  Desmond  was  leaving  England  that 
night;  he  had  some  fears  that  Max  might  get  into  diffi- 
culties over  this  affair,  and  find  himself  hampered  by  his 
oath  of  secrecy ;  in  case  this  should  happen  he  authorized  us 
both  to  speak.  I  asked  him  why  he  could  not  have  seen 
Max,  and  why  I  might  not  tell  him  all  this  at  once.  And 
then  it  transpired  that  while  in  America  Mr.  Desmond  had 
adopted  the  most  extreme  opinions,  and  that  he  was  mixed 
up  with  the  recent  dynamite  outrages.  To  have  any  con- 
nection with  him  would,  he  thought,  be  fatal  to  Mr.  Here- 
ford's public  career.  So,  you  see,  I  was  allowed  to  be  free 
from  my  original  oath  if  danger  should  arise,  but  I  was 
to  promise  to  say  nothing  whatever  to  my  lover  unless  he 
found  himself  suspected  of  complicity  in  the  Lough  Lee 
affair.  Just  after  this  meeting  with  John  Desmond  my 
engagement  was  broken  off,  and  when  at  Kilmainham  I 
found  that  it  was  impossible  to  release  Mr.  Hereford  from 
his  oath  and  explain  the  matter  to  him,  I  thought  I  was 
justified  in  appealing  to  those  who  had  imprisoned  him.  I 
had  seen  in  the  newspapers  the  account  of  the  watch-key. 


DOREEN-  ^  375 

found  inside  a  fish  caught  in  Lough  Lee,  with  Mr.  Foxell's 
initials  on  it,  and  seeing  that  Baptiste  Charpentier  had 
found  so  extraordinary  a  bit  of  evidence,  and  that  almost 
immediately  afterwards  Max  Hereford  was  imprisoned,  I 
naturally  thought  there  was  some  connection  between  the 
two  events.  I  am  of  course  aware  that  he  was  nominally 
arrested  for  speaking  at  two  of  the  Land  League  meetings." 

"  Are  you  prepared  to  swear  to  the  absolute  truth  of  all 
you  have  told  us  ?  "  said  the  Chief  Secretary. 

"  Certainly,"  she  replied ;  "  I  swear  that  it  is  the  truth, 
the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth." 

Again  a  silence  reigned  in  the  room.  Doreen,  now  that 
her  work  was  done,  became  suddenly  conscious  of  weary 
limbs  and  an  aching  heart ;  there  was  something,  too,  which 
appealed  very  painfully  to  her  in  the  realization  of  the  im- 
mense power  which  rested  with  these  two  statesmen.  If 
they  could  but  see  the  justice  of  Ireland's  cry  for  Home 
Eule !  If  they  could  but  view  things  from  the  point  of  the 
true  Irishman,  the  tiller  of  the  ground,  who,  spite  of  cen- 
turies of  oppression,  spite  of  rack  rents  and  famine  and 
pestilence  and  sword,  had  refused  to  be  driven  from  his 
native  land  by  the  conquerors  who  love  to  sweep  all  before 
them! 

Was  it,  after  all,  so  hopeless  that  they  might  learn  to 
trust  her  people  ?  The  whole  basis  of  their  power  in  Eng- 
land lay  in  that  trust  of  the  workers  of  the  nation,  in  utter 
refusal  to  be  guided  by  considerations  of  rank  or  wealth. 
When  would  they  learn  that  men  like  Fitzhugh  and  O'Car- 
roll  and  Donal  Moore  were  the  true  leaders  of  the  Irish, 
and  that  they  understood  the  people  as  no  prejudiced,  selfish 
landlord  was  capable  of  understanding  them ! 

She  glanced  up  at  the  two  powerful  faces,  and  there 
stole  into  her  heart  a  comforting  perception  of  the  strong 
desire  that  lay  with  each  of  them  to  do  what  was  just. 
These  were  not  the  sort  of  statesmen  to  seek  what  was 
expedient  for  the  moment,  but  what  was  morally  right. 
They  would  not,  as  had  been  the  case  with  so  many  English 


376  DOREEN 

ministers,  use  Ireland  to  serve  the  interests  of  tlieir  own 
party,  and  then  leave  her  in  the  lurch.  They  would  act 
up  to  their  lights,  would  do  what  they  believed  to  be  right 
even  though  it  were  to  their  own  hindrance. 

"  I  leave  for  Dublin  to-morrow  night,"  said  the  Chief 
Secretary,  ''and  you  may  rest  assured  that  I  shall  give  the 
most  impartial  consideration  to  Mr.  Hereford's  case.  He 
will  probably  be  at  large  again  very  shortly." 

Doreen  rose  to  take  leave,  the  great  relief  of  unburdening 
her  heart,  the  rapture  of  knowing  that  Max  would  soon  be 
free  and  that  she  had  freed  him,  mingled  with  the  painful 
thought  of  his  utter  misunderstanding,  and  threatened  to 
prove  too  much  for  her  powers  of  endurance.  The  Prime 
Minister  noted  her  look  of  exhaustion,  and  as  they  returned 
to  the  drawing-room,  he  talked  to  her  with  the  greatest 
kindness  of  the  suffering  which  the  deeds  of  others  had 
forced  her  to  endure  for  so  many  j^ears.  His  wife  was  full 
of  offers  of  hospitality ;  but  Doreen,  though  she  was  touched 
and  pleased  by  all  the  kindly  attentions  shown  her,  excused 
herself  on  the  ground  that  she  must  rejoin  Terrier's  concert 
party. 

^'  Is  there  nothing  more  that  we  can  do  for  you  ?  "  said  the 
Prime  Minister. 

A  sudden  thought  darted  into  Doreen' s  mind. 

"  There  is  one  thing,"  she  said  eagerly :  "Donal  Moore,  my 
father's  old  friend,  was  left  as  co-guardian  with  me  of  my 
younger  brothers  and  sisters.  I  applied  once  at  Portland 
Prison  to  see  him  in  the  ordinary  way,  but  was  refused. 
But  you  are  all-powerful ;  you  could  give  us  permission  to 
visit  him." 

"  You  must  have  a  special  order  from  the  Home  Secre- 
tary," said  the  Prime  Minister ;  "  I  will  myself  see  to  it  for 
you."  And  then  with  a  few  gracious,  courtly  words  he  bade 
her  farewell.  And  Doreen  drove  from  the  house  feeling  as 
if  she  had  been  blessed  by  a  patriarch. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"  Ah,  if  their  hearts  were  callous,  and  if  their  souls  were  mean. 
If  selfish  thoughts  could  sway  them,  not  such  their  fate  had  been : 
They  felt  their  country's  sorrow,  and  dreamed  that  dream  of  light, 
To  change  her  grief  to  gladness,  her  gloom  to  glory  bright ; 
They  saw  their  people  stricken  in  suffering  sad  and  low, 
And  offered  all  their  life-blood  to  raise  them  from  their  woe. 

"Oh,  ye  for  whom  they  suffer,  for  whom  they  thought  and  strove, 

Let  not  their  memories  vanish  from  out  your  hearts  of  love  ! 

Pray  for  the  hapless  captives  midst  all  your  joy  or  gi'ief, 

That  Christ,  once  bound  and  tortured,  may  send  them  sweet  relief, 

May  visit  them  in  prison,  may  touch  them  with  His  hand, 

And  give  them  peace  who  perish  to  right  their  native  land." 

T.  D.  Sullivan. 

To  be  endowed  with  a  hopeful  temperament  and  a  vivid 
imagination  is  generally  considered  to  be  one  of  the  great- 
est privileges.  People  seldom  realize  that,  like  a  two-edged 
sword,  such  a  disposition  is  a  perilous  one  to  deal  with. 
After  a  good  night's  rest  Doreen  began  to  take  a  most 
roseate  view  of  life  in  general,  and  of  her  own  affairs  in 
particular.  When  Max  knew  all,  when  he  was  free  once 
more,  why  then  surely  he  would  write  to  her.  She  could  not 
and  would  not  believe  that  the  love  of  years  was  finally  to 
be  killed  by  a  hasty  lovers'  quarrel  and  a  brief  misunder- 
standing. The  thing  was  ridiculous,  impossible.  Directly 
Max  knev  all,  he  would  come  to  her. 

As  the  week  drew  to  a  close,  she  looked  eagerly  for  letters, 
and  there  was  hardly  a  moment  of  the  day  in  which  she 

377 


378  DOREEIsr 

did  not  expect  him  to  arrive ;  yet  when  nothing  happened, 
she  consoled  herself  by  reflecting  that  the  Chief  Secretary 
had  only  reached  Dublin  on  Tuesday  morning,  and  that  doubt- 
less other  cases  might  have  to  be  considered  first.  On  the 
Monday  morning  when  she  came  down  to  breakfast,  in  their 
private  sitting-room  at  the  Spread  Eagle  in  Rilchester,  she 
found  that  no  one  but  Ferrier  was  yet  down.  He  was  deep 
in  his  newspaper,  and  started  a  little  as  she  greeted  him. 

"  There  is  something  here,  my  dear,  which  you  had  better 
read,"  he  said,  "  before  the  rest  of  the  party  arrive." 

She  caught  the  newspaper  eagerly  from  his  hand  and  read 
the  following  lines :  — 

"Mr.  Max  Hereford,  whose  arrest  as  a  suspect  caused 
some  little  surprise,  was  released  from  Kilmainham  on  Fri- 
day, and  proceeded  at  once  to  one  of  the  North  Wall  boats 
bound  for  Liverpool.  We  understand  that  he  intends  to 
go  immediately  to  Madeira  for  the  sake  of  his  health." 

Doreen  said  not  a  word,  but  she  felt  as  if  the  end  of  all 
things  had  come.  He  had  gone  abroad  without  writing  to 
her,  without  trying  to  see  her.  Well,  then  his  love  must 
be  dead.  And  her  love  for  him  ?  It  could  never  die ;  it 
would  live,  but  only  to  torture  her.  Surely  it  had  been 
prophetic  that  his  first  gift  to  her  should  have  been  a  cruci- 
fix. With  that  thought,  however,  a  fresh  idea  darted  into 
her  mind.  There  must,  after  all,  be  some  purpose  in  it. 
It  was  not  for  nothing  that  she  was  called  on  to  bear  this 
bitter  pain  and  shame.  There  remained  for  her,  at  least, 
the  comfort  of  knowing  that  she  had  set  him  free,  and 
perhaps  saved  his  future  career. 

"Don't  go  away  without  any  breakfast,"  said  Ferrier. 
"  The  butter  is  abominable,  and  the  bacon  hard  as  leather ; 
but  the  eggs  may  be  safely  recommended,  and  the  coffee  is 
passable." 

She  sat  down  to  please  him,  and  made  a  pretence  of  eat- 
ing ;  then,  hearing  voices  outside,  hurriedly  rose. 

"Don't  tell  the  others  just  to-day,"  she  said.  "I  want 
to  get  used  to  it.     I  am  going  now  to  the  cathedral." 


DOREEN  379 

And  finding  great  relief  in  rapid  motion,  she  hurried 
along  the  quaint,  old-fashioned  street  leading  to  the  Close, 
and  made  her  way  into  a  quiet  nook  in  the  great  church. 
Morning  service  was  over,  but  the  choir  were  practising 
Wesley's  anthem,  "The  wilderness  and  the  solitary  place 
shall  be  glad  for  them,"  and  the  music  soothed  her  as  noth- 
ing else  could  have  done.  She  thought  of  Ireland,  and  tried 
to  believe  that  in  some  unknown  way  this  pain  of  hers 
would  serve  the  national  cause,  and  that  at  last  there  should 
indeed  come  the  time  when  "  sorrow  and  sighing  shall  flee 
away."  Why  was  she  to  be  more  favoured  than  others  of 
her  family  ?  They  had  all  died  for  love  of  their  land,  and 
now  it  had  come  to  her  turn;  and  her  country's  wrongs, 
and  the  failure  of  her  own  temper  and  patience,  had  made 
it  necessary  that  she  should  endure  this  death  in  life.  But 
then  her  strong  faith  in  Max  once  more  brought  comfort  to 
her.  Surely  it  was  impossible  that  he  had  heard  the  whole 
truth !  Was  it  likely  that  he  would  himself  have  seen  the 
Chief  Secretary,  a  man  who  was  worked  almost  to  death  ? 
Probably  he  had  merely  received  an  order  for  his  release, 
and  had  never  learnt  how  it  had  been  procured.  Perhaps 
some  day  he  might  learn ;  perhaps  some  day  he  would  trust 
in  her  again.  But  for  the  present  she  could  do  no  more ; 
could  only  wait  and  throw  herself  vigorously  into  her  pro- 
fessional life,  and  into  trying  to  relieve  the  dire  distress 
which  was  caused  in  Ireland  by  the  arrest  of  so  many  bread- 
winners. 

Passing  through  London  on  the  following  day,  she  was 
cheered  by  a  brief  talk  with  Michael,  who  came  to  meet  her 
at  King's  Cross.  The  boy  was  shy  of  speaking  about  Max, 
and  perhaps  it  was  as  well,  for  she  could  have  told  him 
nothing  of  the  events  of  the  past  three  weeks. 

"  I  brought  you  this,  aroon,"  he  said,  colouring  a  little. 
"  It's  only  an  Algerian  thing,  but  I  thought  it  might  come 
in  usefully." 

They  were  in  a  hansom,  driving  to  Waterloo  station,  and 
Doreen,  opening  the  little  box  he  put  in  her  hands,  found 


38o  DOREEN 

a  quaint  and  very  effective  necklace,  which  must  certainly 
have  cost  every  penny  he  possessed.  She  knew  in  a  moment 
that  he  had  spent  on  her  the  money  he  had  won  in  two  or 
three  tennis  tournaments  that  summer,  and  that  he  had 
realized  that  the  separation  from  Max  had  left  her  without 
a  single  ornament. 

"You  are  very  good  to  me,  dear  boy,"  she  said,  with  tears 
in  her  eyes,  as  she  slipped  her  hand  into  his,  with  a  little 
tender,  grateful  caress.  "  And  I  have  good  news  for  you," 
she  added,  with  forced  cheerfulness.  "I  have  a  special 
order  to  go  and  see  Donal  Moore.  Can't  you  manage  to  get 
two  or  three  days'  holiday  in  the  third  week  of  November  ? 
Then  we  will  go  down  to  Portland  together." 

"That  would  be  splendid,"  said  the  boy,  eagerly.  "I 
wonder  whether  it  is  much  changed  since  the  old  days  when 
we  used  to  see  father." 

Doreen  sighed.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  lived 
through  a  whole  age  of  sorrow  and  trouble  since  the  days 
when,  as  a  little,  eager,  hopeful  girl,  she  had  visited  the 
jail  with  her  mother. 

"  I  think  I  must  take  Mollie  for  a  treat.  Sunbeams  are 
needed  in  that  dreary  place." 

"  And  couldn't  you  take  poor  old  Dermot  ?  "  said  Michael. 
"  He  has  had  rather  a  rough  time  of  it  at  school  lately.  The 
day  after  the  arrests,  when  I  came  home  in  the  evening,  I 
found  him  dreadfully  mauled,  and  it  turned  out  that  he  had 
been  fighting  a  boy  ever  so  much  bigger.  Father  Farrell 
had  come  in  with  me,  and  he  took  him  to  task  about  it ;  said 
the  love  of  fighting  was  the  root  of  all  evil,  and  so  on. 

" '  I  don't  love  fighting,  father,'  said  Dermot,  '  and  truly  I 
always  stand  their  chaff  and  let  them  call  me  "  Doormat," 
but  you  can't  expect  a  fellow  to  stand  by  and  hear  Donal 
Moore  and  O'Carroll  and  Fitzhugh  called  thieves  and  mur- 
derers. I  guess  if  you'd  been  a  schoolboy  you'd  have 
fought  yourself,  father.' " 

Doreen  laughed. 

"  And  what  did  Father  Farrell  say  to  him  ?  " 


DOREEN  381 

"Why,"  said  Michael,  "he  just  turned  away  and  walked 
up  the  room,  laughing  to  himself,  and  then  when  he  came 
back  he  told  us  about  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  was  as  jolly  as 
could  be,  and  told  Dermot  that  he  thought  he  was  cut  out 
to  be  a  hero  of  the  pen  rather  than  a  hero  of  the  sword. 
Dermot  was  awfully  pleased,  and  he  told  how  for  years  he 
had  meant  to  be  a  newspaper  correspondent  when  he  was 
old  enough,  and  Father  Farrell  stayed  so  long  talking  with 
us  that  I  believe  Uncle  Garth  thought  we  were  hatching  a 
diabolical  popish  plot." 

"  Don't  abuse  Uncle  Garth,"  said  Doreen,  brightly.  "  He 
is  learning  that,  after  all,  whatever  their  differences,  Roman 
Catholics  and  English  churchmen  say  precisely  the  same 
creed  every  Sunday.  If  there  were  no  worse  bigots  than 
Uncle  Garth,  we  should  all  get  on  peaceably  enough  together." 

"  Oh  yes,  thank  Heaven !  he  is  not  like  General  Hereford,'' 
said  Michael,  "who  firmly  believes  that  all  Catholics  lie 
when  they  find  it  convenient,  and  would  torture  and  burn 
all  Protestants  if  they  had  a  chance.  You  might  talk  your- 
self to  death  while  showing  him  that  self-government  in 
Italy  has  meant  the  very  opposite  to  priestly  domination. 
He  would  still  insist  that  Home  Rule  meant  Rome  rule. 
That's  just  one  of  those  catchpenny  phrases  that  stick  fast 
in  the  heads  of  pig-headed  idiots." 

"  Is  Dermot  all  right  again  ?  "  said  Doreen.  "  I  wish  I 
had  been  at  home  to  look  after  him." 

"  Oh,  he  is  right  enough  now,  though  his  face  is  still 
all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow.  Brian  Osmond  saw  to  him, 
and  Aunt  Garth  was  awfully  good.  But  it's  beastly  at 
home  now  we  are  so  few.  When  is  Una  coming  back,  and 
the  children  ?  " 

"  I  think  they  had  better  stay  on  with  Mrs.  Muchmore  at 
Bournemouth  till  after  we  have  been  to  Portland.  We  can 
take  Mollie  on  our  way  down.  I  am  just  longing  for  home. 
This  tour  seems  the  longest  I  have  ever  taken.  If  it  were 
not  that  I  am  really  fond  of  Madame  St.  Pierre,  and  of  Sar- 
doni  and  his  wife,  and  of  dear  old  Ferrier,  who  is  kindness 


382  DOREEN 

itself,  I  don't  think  I  could  endure  it.  Stainforth,  the  vio- 
linist, is  an  insufferable  man,  and  the  pianist  drinks,  and 
the  baritone  has  a  bad  temper.  And  they  all  talk  against 
the  Irish,  and  not  one  of  them  has  taken  the  trouble  to 
study  Irish  history,  —  not  one ! " 

"  Doreen  looks  so  dreadfully  tired,"  thought  Michael,  as 
he  walked  back  from  Paddington  after  seeing  her  safely 
into  the  train.  ^'I  am  afraid  she  has  been  fretting  over 
Max  Hereford's  imprisonment  and  the  news  of  his  illness. 
How  I  wish  she  had  never  met  him!  There  was  trouble 
enough  in  her  life  already  without  his  making  any  more." 

But  Doreen  would  certainly  have  disagreed  with  this 
sentiment,  and  she  struggled  on  with  the  buoyant  courage 
of  her  race,  not  losing,  even  in  the  midst  of  her  trouble,  the 
happy  sense  of  humour,  which  did  much  to  keep  her  com- 
panions in  good  spirits  during  the  tour.  It  was  always 
Doreen  who  overheard  the  comments  of  the  front  row  and 
regaled  the  others  with  them  afterwards.  People  seemed 
happily  oblivious  to  the  fact  that  sound  rises  and  that  the 
performers  were  not  deaf.  In  a  pause  after  the  pianist's 
brilliant  staccato  mazurka,  Doreen,  waiting  on  the  platform 
behind  a  screen,  ready  for  her  next  song,  overheard  a  lady 
remark,  "How  singular  it  seems  that  he  never  alights  on 
the  wrong  note ! "  The  delicious  naivet4  of  this  faint  praise 
as  the  reward  for  years  of  hard  work  and  considerable 
talent  tickled  them  all  so  much  that  poor  old  D'Albiac 
never  heard  the  last  of  it.  Then  there  were  the  frank  and 
outspoken  personal  remarks,  the  criticisms  on  the  dresses, 
sometimes  a  hot  discussion  in  penetrating  whispers  as  to 
whether  the  violinist  did  or  did  not  wear  a  wig ! 

It  was  not  until  the  last  evening  of  the  tour  that  Doreen 
summoned  up  her  courage  to  speak  to  Terrier  about  a  mat- 
ter which  had  long  filled  her  thoughts.  Madame  St.  Pierre 
was  singing,  Sardoni  and  his  wife  were  talking  on  the  stairs 
to  some  friends,  and  the  rest  were  gossiping  round  the  door 
leading  on  to  the  platform.  These  two  found  themselves 
(juite  alone   in  the   artistes'   room;  for  even  Madame  St, 


DOREEN'  383 

Pierre's  French  maid  had  put  down  her  work  and  was  wait- 
ing with  her  mistress's  shawl  down  below. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  how  thankful  I  am  that  we  are  at  the  end 
of  this  pilgrimage,"  said  Terrier,  dropping  wearily  into  a 
chair.  "  I  am  almost  ready  to  register  a  vow  that  I  will 
never  again  go  on  tour." 

"  Don't  do  that,"  said  Doreen.  "  It  would  be  very  hard  on 
the  rest  of  the  profession.  I  wish  before  the  others  come 
back  you  would  give  me  your  advice." 

He  looked  into  the  sweet,  winsome  face,  and  noted  the 
somQwhat  anxious  expression  of  the  blue  eyes. 

"  My  dear  Doreen,  I  am  as  ready  to  advise  you  as  if  you 
were  one  of  my  own  daughters.  Don't  work  so  hard,  don't 
sing  so  often,  raise  your  terms,  and  take  a  good  holiday." 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  sing  quite  so  much,"  she  said  hesitat- 
ingly; "in  fact,  I  am  thinking  of  going  to  Ireland  after 
Christmas.  I  want  to  know  whether  you  think  my  joining 
the  Ladies'  Land  League  will  very  much  affect  my  position 
as  a  singer." 

"  It  is  hard  to  say,"  he  replied.  "  You  are  very  popular, 
but  people  would  certainly  resent  your  taking  such  a  step. 
I  think  it  is  a  great  mistake  for  an  artiste  to  be  mixed  up 
with  such  matters.     A  singer  should  have  no  politics." 

"  Now  come  ! "  said  Doreen,  laughing.  "  That  is  all  very 
well;  but  have  you  eschewed  politics  while  we  have  been 
on  tour  ?  " 

"  I  mean  in  public,"  he  replied. 

"And  have  you  not  sung  in  public  every  night  for  the 
last  six  weeks  that  aggressively  English  song  which  lauds 
all  English  virtues  to  the  skies  ?  And  didn't  you  invaria- 
bly give  ^Hearts  of  Oak'  for  an  encoreV 

"  Pshaw !  I  sang  the  song  because  it  was  set  to  a  popu- 
lar and  taking  air.  But  do  you  think  I  would  sing  it  if 
the  words  would  give  offence  ?  Not  for  all  the  silver  in 
Peru !    An  artiste  has  no  business  to  meddle  with  politics." 

"  In  the  words  of  Madame  Viadot  Garcia,"  said  Doreen, 
^P'abordje  suis  femme,  et  puis  je  suis  artiste.^     I  think  you 


384  DOREEN 

forget  that  I  was  Patrick  O'Ryan's  orphan  daughter  before 
I  was  a  public  singer." 

"Well,  well,"  he  said  kindly,  "you  must  do  what  you 
think  right.  You  never  have  pandered  to  the  public,  or 
hidden  your  convictions  under  a  bushel,  and  I  don't  sup- 
pose you're  likely  to  begin  now.  And,  entirely  to  please 
the  most  wilful  of  Irishwomen,  I  will  not  sing  '■  Hearts  of 
Oak '  for  an  encore  to-night,  but  will  give  them  'Molly  Carew ' 
instead." 

Doreen's  heart  felt  lighter  than  it  had  done  for  some  time 
when,  having  parted  with  her  friends,  she  set  off  the  next 
morning  for  Bournemouth.  The  two  children  were  waiting 
for  her  on  the  platform,  and  threw  themselves  upon  her 
with  a  welcome  that  seemed  doubly  delightful  after  her 
long  absence.  They  found  Una  in  her  bath  chair  in  the 
public  gardens,  and  the  sight  of  the  wonderful  improvement 
in  the  little  girl's  whole  aspect  sent  a  thrill  of  pleasure  to 
Doreen's  heart.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  failed  with 
all  else,  but  had  succeeded  fairly  well  with  the  little  violinist, 
whose  happy  freedom  from  care  and  renewed  health  were 
plainly  visible  in  the  pretty  and  now  childlike  face.  They 
spent  a  merry  day  together,  and  the  next  morning,  being 
joined  by  Michael  and  Dermot,  Doreen  set  out  for  Portland, 
having  carefully  arrayed  Mollie  in  her  very  prettiest  cos- 
tume, "taking  as  much  pains  over  it,"  Mrs.  Muchmore 
observed,  "  as  if  the  child  were  going  to  see  Eoyalty." 

It  was  impossible  not  to  be  infected  by  the  high  spirits 
of  the  two  boys  and  by  Mollie's  delicious  air  of  importance. 

"  It  will  be  the  first  time  I've  ever  seen  a  prison,"  she 
announced  gleefully,  "and  Bride  and  me  are  always  play- 
ing prisoners,  you  know." 

"  Just  as  we  used  to  do,"  said  Doreen,  glancing  at  Michael ; 
"  many's  the  quarrel  we  have  had  in  disputing  which  should 
have  the  honour  of  being  the  prisoner,  and  which  should 
take  the  hated  rdle  of  Englishman." 

"  Yes  ;  don't  you  remember  when  we  argued  for  an  hour 
oiie  night  in  bed,  because  you  always  would  play  the  part 


DOREEN'  385 

of  Wolfe  Tone,  and  make  me  act  the  man  who  betrayed  him  ? 
And  when  words  failed  me,  I  solemnly  rose  and  bit  your  arm." 

"Poor  Mick!  I  was  a  terrible  tease,"  said  Doreen, 
penitently ;  "  and  it  was  hard  on  you,  for  I  could  show  the 
mark  of  your  teeth,  and  you  couldn't  show  the  effect  of  my 
biting  words.  I  can  see  now  the  struggle  in  mother^s  face 
to  keep  grave  and  to  look  shocked  when  we  explained  that 
we  were  wrangling  over  Wolfe  Tone.  And  after  that,  I 
always  had  to  take  my  turn  at  Sir  George  Hill." 

Having  reached  Weymouth,  they  took  a  carriage  and 
drove  straight  to  the  prison,  Michael  eagerly  recognizing 
the  most  curiously  trivial  objects,  which  are  often  the  ones  to 
dwell  longest  in  a  child's  memory;  Doreen,  somewhat  grave 
and  sad  as  she  recalled  their  last  visit.  She  held  Mollie's 
hand  in  hers  as  they  dismounted  at  the  grim,  forbidding 
entrance,  and  followed  their  guide  into  the  Governor's  office, 
where  the  Governor  himself  received  them  pleasantly 
enough,  explaining  to  her  that  she  should  see  Donal  Moore 
in  his  presence  and  in  his  office,  instead  of  in  the  usual  way, 
in  the  presence  of  a  warder,  and  with  iron  bars  between  them. 

She  was  grateful  for  the  concession,  and  then  it  suddenly 
struck  her  what  a  strange  thing  it  was  that,  towards  the 
end  of  the  nineteenth  century,  an  Irishwoman  should  have 
to  be  grateful  to  an  Englishman  for  permission  to  see  for 
twenty  minutes  one  of  her  own  countrymen,  on  the  under- 
standing that  politics  must  be  excluded  from  their  conver- 
sation. When  in  a  few  minutes  the  convict  was  brought 
into  the  room,  her  first  feeling  was  one  of  hot  indignation, 
as  her  eyes  caught  the  familiar  and  hideous  prison  dress, 
and  the  closely  cut,  grizzled  hair.  But  the  face,  though 
thinner  and  paler,  was  as  gentle  as  ever,  and  the  quiet  blue 
eyes  lighted  up  with  pleasure,  as  he  caught  sight  of  the 
little  group  waiting  to  see  him. 

"  What,  four  of  you ! "  he  exclaimed ;  "  that  is  more  than 
I  had  expected.  Why,  Mollie  mavourneen,  who  would  have 
thought  of  seeing  you  in  prison !  " 

The  child  sprang  into  his  arms,  and  clung  round  his  neck, 


386  DOREEN- 

hugging  and  kissing  him  with  all  her  heart,  while  the 
Governor  thought  he  had  never  before  realized  how  fast 
Irish  tongues  could  fly,  and  in  what  a  bewildering  fashion 
five  people  could  talk  at  one  and  the  same  moment.  It 
was  difficult  to  distinguish  exactly  what  did  pass,  but  pres- 
ently Mollie's  childish  tones  rang  out  clearly  in  a  momen- 
tary pause.  "  Dear  Dohal !  why  do  they  put  this  thing  on 
your  arm,  just  as  if  you  were  a  cabman  ?  Is  it  your  age  ? 
Oh  no  !  I  see  it's  something  in  hundreds,  and  you're  not  so 
very  very  old  yet.  And  what  are  these  spiked  things  all 
over  the  clothes  ?  " 

"  Those,  mavourneen,  are  broad  arrows." 

"  Oh  yes,  now  I  see,"  said  Mollie ;  "  that's  why  you  made 
me  think  of  the  picture  of  St.  Sebastian  in  Dermot's 
book,  where  he  is  tied  to  the  tree,  and  arrows  are  sticking 
all  into  him  ;  but  they  were  rather  longer  arrows  than  yours. 
I  do  wish  when  you  come  out,  you  would  let  us  have  these 
lovely  clothes  for  acting." 

"  You  must  run  and  ask  the  Governor,"  said  Donal  Moore, 
laughing.  Then,  drawing  Doreen  a  little  aside,  he  began 
to  ask  whether  she  had  seen  his  wife  in  Dublin. 

"  She  was  here  in  August  and  told  me  the  last  news  of 
you,"  he  added.  "I  am  grieved  about  it,  but  it  is  hardly  a 
matter  we  can  touch  on  now." 

"  N'o,"  said  Doreen,  "  and  there  is  little  enough  I  could 
tell  you.  It  is  all  at  an  end,  but  I  think  —  I  hope  —  he  still 
cares  for  Ireland.  Our  time  in  Dublin  was  terribly  short, 
but  I  did  get  a  little  talk  with  Mrs.  Moore.  She  was  very 
good  to  me;  I  was  in  dreadful  trouble  just  then.  But, 
Donal,  the  time  is  slipping  by  cruelly  fast,  and  I  want  very 
much  to  ask  you  whether  you  think  it  would  be  unwise  for 
me  to  go  to  Ireland  after  Christmas.  I  want  to  help.  I 
can't  bear  to  be  any  longer  what  my  father  would  have 
called  a  botheen." 

"  Do  you  mean  work  at  number  39  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes ;  I  don't  care  how  dull  it  is  as  long  as  it  is  practi- 
cal work  of  some  sort." 


bOREEN  387 

"It  is  what  I  should  have  expected  of  Patrick  O'Ryan's 
daughter,"  he  said.  "  If  you  ask  my  advice,  I  should  cer- 
tainly say  —  *  Go,  and  God  be  with  you ! ' " 

"  And  how  about  the  children  ?  Shall  I  take  them  over 
there  with  Mrs.  Muchmore,  or  would  you  think  it  better 
for  them  to  be  left  with  her  in  London  ?  " 

"  I  should  let  them  stay  on  at  home  if  Mrs.  Garth  makes 
no  objection.  You  will  have  little  free  time  out  there,  and 
would  worry  about  them  less  if  they  were  all  together  at 
Bernard  Street  with  Brian  Osmond  at  hand  in  case  any- 
thing should  go  wrong." 

She  sighed,  hating  the  prospect  of  the  parting,  yet  forced 
to  agree  that  there  was  much  to  be  said  for  his  point  of  view. 

"You  had  better  stay  with  my  wife,"  he  said;  "she 
would  be  only  too  delighted  to  have  you.  Did  you  stay 
there  when  you  were  in  Dublin  ?  " 

"  No ;  our  time  was  so  short.  We  were  at  the  Shelbourne, 
and  the  next  morning  I  tried  to  see  Max  in  Kilmainham, 
but  couldn't." 

"  Mr.  Hereford  in  Kilmainham  ?  "  said  Donal  Moore,  in 
astonishment. 

"He  is  out  again  now,  but  they  arrested  him  the  day 
after  Mr.  Fitzhugh  and  Dennis  O'Carroll  and  so  many 
others  were  arrested  ;  "  then,  catching  herself  up,  she  turned 
to  the  Governor,  with  an  apology.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  I 
am  afraid  we  are  trenching  on  dangerous  ground ;  it  is  a 
little  hard  to  know  where  the  affairs  of  personal  friends 
end  and  politics  begin." 

"  Mr.  Moore  finds  it  a  great  privation  to  be  cut  off  from 
all  newspapers,"  said  the  Governor;  "but  rules  must  be 
observed.  By  the  bye,  may  I  ask  the  meaning  of  the  word 
^botheen'?" 

Doreen  laughed.  "  I  don't  think  that  is  a  political  term, " 
she  said.  "  It  is  just  an  Irish  term  for  one  who  prays 
rather  than  works.  But  about  reading,  Donal,"  she  contin- 
ued, turning  to  him  again.  "Are  you  cut  off  from  all 
books  as  well  as  from  all  newspapers  ?  " 

▲A2 


388  DOREEN 

"  From  all,  save  the  books  in  the  prison  library,"  he  said, 
"and  they  leave  much  to  be  desired.  People  don't  realize 
how  much  might  be  done  through  a  really  well-stocked 
prison  library ;  good,  wholesome  novels,  and  lives  of  great 
men  would  do  more  to  repress  crime  than  all  the  direct 
religious  teaching  you  can  supply." 

They  fell  to  talking  of  family  matters,  and  of  certain 
arrangements  about  the  children's  education,  and  then,  all 
too  soon,  the  twenty  minutes  ended. 

"  It  surely  cannot  be  for  long,"  said  Doreen,  as  she  bade 
him  farewell  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  They  will  let  you  out  for  Christmas,  Donal,  won't  they?" 
said  Mollie,  in  her  sweet  treble,  as  she  kissed  him  again  and 
again. 

"  Well  Mollie,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh,  "  we  are  short  of 
most  things  in  prison  save  hope,  but  we  always  have  plenty 
of  that.  I  once  knew  a  convict  who  lived  in  daily  hope  of 
release  for  years.  And  now  I  shall  have  the  comfort  of 
knowing  that  Dermot  is  always  ready  to  act  as  my  champion, 
and  to  be  knocked  black  and  blue  rather  than  hear  me  called 
a  thief  and  a  murderer." 

"  I  wish  I  could  go  to  prison  instead  of  you,"  said  Der- 
mot, his  dreamy  eyes  lighting  up  with  a  vision  of  sacrifice. 

And  that  was  the  last  word  that  passed  between  them. 
Donal  Moore  went  back  to  his  dreary  cell,  to  endure  as  best 
he  might  the  horrible  craving  for  freedom,  which  seized 
him  as  he  contrasted  its  blank  solitariness  with  the  life  that 
should  by  right  have  been  his.  And  the  O'Ryans  drove 
back  to  Weymouth  sadly  enough,  Michael  waxing  eloquent 
over  the  daily  increasing  number  of  arrests. 

"  The  Prime  Minister  ought  to  be  hung ! "  he  protested 
vehemently. 

But  Doreen  roused  up  at  this,  and  called  him  somewhat 
sharply  to  order. 

"  How  can  you  talk  so  foolishly  before  the  younger  ones  ?  " 
she  said.  "  You  know  quite  well  that  the  Prime  Minister 
hates  the  whole  policy  of  Coercion,  and  only  consents  to  it 


DOREEN-  389 

from  a  stern  sense  of  duty.  He  is  trying  to  do  what  he 
thinks  best  for  Ireland ;  one  day  he  will  learn  his  mistake, 
and  will  nobly  and  fearlessly  own  that  the  time  has  come 
when  a  different  policy  must  be  tried." 


CHAPTEE  XXXIII. 

"  Oh,  before  it  be  too  late,  before  more  blood  shall  stain  the  pages 
of  our  present  history,  before  we  exasperate  and  arouse  bitter  animosi- 
ties, let  us  try  and  do  justice  to  our  sister  land.  Abolish  once  and  for 
all  the  land  laws,  which  in  their  iniquitous  operation  have  ruined  her 
peasantry.  Let  a  commission  of  the  best  and  wisest  among  Irishmen, 
with  some  of  our  highest  English  judges  added,  sit  solemnly  to  hear 
all  complaints,  and  then  let  us  honestly  legislate,  not  for  the  punish- 
ment of  the  discontented,  but  to  remove  the  causes  of  the  discontent." 
—  Charles  Bradlaugh,  A  Plea  for  Ireland,  20  October,  1867. 

The  autumn  proved  a  terribly  sad  one,  for  Donal  Moore's 
prophecy,  made  just  before  his  arrest  in  the  previous  winter, 
was  literally  fulfilled.  Ireland,  as  he  had  said,  was  given 
over  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  Chief  Secretary,  and  to 
those  maddened  by  his  repression.  Open  agitation  had  been 
forbidden,  and  in  consequence  secret  societies  formed  of 
wild  and  desperate  men  began  to  spring  up,  and  many  a 
ghastly  murder  was  reported,  casting  a  gloom  indescribable 
over  the  hearts  of  those  who  truly  loved  Ireland. 

The  people  were  as  sheep  without  a  shepherd ;  all  the  true 
leaders  who,  spite  of  the  vile  accusations  of  their  opponents, 
had  done  their  utmost  to  repress  agrarian  crime,  were  in 
prison.  The  Land  League,  which  had  sought  by  legitimate 
methods  to  destroy  the  infamous  land  system  which  was 
at  the  root  of  all  Irish  distress,  had  been  suppressed  by  the 
Chief  Secretary ;  constitutional  action  had  become  impossi- 
ble ;  and  the  more  turbulent  and  hot-headed  section  natu- 
rally seized  their  opportunity. 

890 


DOREEAT  391 

Doreen,  in  all  her  troubled  life,  had  never  perhaps  suffered 
more  acutely  than  now.  Black  darkness  seemed  to  hem  her 
in  on  every  side,  and  it  was  not  easy  to  endure  the  taunts 
and  the  ignorant  discussions  with  which  she  was  assailed  on 
all  sides.  Ferrier  was  the  only  man  who  would  give  even  a 
fair  hearing  to  any  sort  of  defence  of  her  countrymen. 

"  They  go  talking  in  their  idiotic  way  about  the  infamous 
Land  Leaguers,"  she  said  one  day  when  at  one  of  Boniface's 
concerts  the  talk  in  the  artistes'  room  had  waxed  unusually 
hot,  "  and  I  don't  believe  one  of  them  has  so  much  as  learnt 
the  objects  of  the  Land  League,  —  that  what  it  strives  for 
is  the  reduction  of  rack  rents,  that  all  it  wishes  is  the  aboli- 
tion of  the  present  system  of  landlordism,  so  that  as  in  old 
times  there  should  be  no  intermediate  ownership  between 
the  State  and  the  man  who  cultivates  the  land." 

"That,  in  fact,  you  object  to  the  harsh  treatment  of 
peasants,  but  approve  of  the  harsh  treatment  of  land- 
lords ! "  said  Terrier. 

"Not  at  all.  I  don't  wish  a  hair  of  their  heads  to  be 
hurt.  We  don't  propose  to  rob  them,  but  that  they  should 
be  amply  compensated." 

"  And  in  the  meantime  your  countrymen  have  started  the 
*No  rent'  system." 

"That  has  only  been  the  case  within  the  last  three 
months,"  said  Doreen.  "  It  was  the  retaliation  for  having 
all  our  leaders  thrust  into  jail.  You  have  imprisoned  the 
only  men  who  could  keep  any  sort  of  order,  and  now  behold 
the  consequences !  You  say  the  Land  League  leaders  are 
thieves  and  murderers,  but  read  their  instructions  to  their 
organizers  and  officers  only  last  year,  and  see  if  anything 
could  be  more  moderate.  See  what  stress  they  lay  on  quiet, 
systematic  action,  on  restraint  of  all  feelings  of  revenge,  on 
making  just  demands  in  a  legal,  intelligent  way,  free  from 
violence.  See  how  they  condemn  all  outrages,  whether 
upon  man  or  beast.  What  would  you  have  more  noble 
than  this  sentence :  '  To  effect  our  object  demands  no  sacri- 
fice from  any  man  in  our  ranks  but  that  of  temper  and 


392  DOREEN 

passion.'  Oh,  you  English  pride  yourselves  on  your  love  of 
justice,  and  will  spand  millions  in  defending  some  ill-treated 
tribe  thousands  of  miles  away,  but  to  us  Irish,  your  nearest 
neighbours,  you  have  been  systematically  unjust  for  seven 
hundred  years." 

"  May  be,"  said  Terrier.  "  But  that  doesn't  justify  your 
countrymen  in  plotting  and  contriving  murders.  Not  only 
the  Chief  Secretary,  but  the  Prime  Minister  and  the  Home 
Secretary,  have  to  be  constantly  under  police  protection,  lest 
they  should  bs  shot  by  one  of  your  friends.  Do  you 
approve  of  that  sort  of  patriotism  ?  " 

^^  Approve ! "  she  said,  her  eyes  ablaze  with  indignation. 
^'Approve!  You  go  too  far  —  too  far!  It  is  the  knowl- 
edge that  all  this  is  going  on  that  is  breaking  my  heart. 
This  Violence  is  the  hateful  offspring  of  your  Tyranny  and 
Injustice.  Don't  lay  the  blame  on  Ireland,  which  has  been 
trampled  under  your  feet  for  centuries !  " 

He  was  touched  by  the  keen  pain  expressed  both  in  look 
and  tone. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear.  Of  course  I  might  have 
known  how  you  felt  in  the  matter.  Come,  let  us  change 
the  subject,  or  you  will  hardly  be  in  trim  for  singing  any- 
thing so  cheerful  as  '  Twickenham  Ferry.'  " 

She  turned  away  with  a  passionate  sigh,  and  took  the 
songs  out  of  her  music-case.  She  began  to  long  for  the 
time  to  come  when  she  could  go  to  her  own  country  and 
throw  herself  into  active  work. 

"They  that  carried  us  away  captive  required  of  us  a 
song ;  and  they  that  wasted  us  required  of  us  mirth,"  she 
said  as  they  went  together  down  the  staircase. 

And  Ferrier  watched  somewhat  sadly  the  effort  it  evi- 
dently cost  her  to  sing  with  due  spirit  and  humour  the 
sprightly  little  ballad. 

It  happened  on  a  bright  frosty  morning  after  Christmas 
that  Doreen,  who  had  been  singing  in  a  performance  of 
"  The  Messiah "  in  the  North  of  England,  was  returning 
with  Mrs.  Muchmore  to  Ashborough,  where  she  had  that 


DOREEN  393 

(^veiling  another  engagement.  In  order  to  effect  the  cross- 
country journey,  they  had  to  change  trains  and  wait  for  an 
hour  at  Mardentown  —  a  proceeding  which  sorely  tried  Do- 
reen's  patience.  She  was  both  unhappy  and  restless  that 
day,  and  the  newspaper  she  had  read  during  the  first  part 
of  the  journey  had  contained  nothing  to  comfort  her.  The 
news  from  Ireland  was  far  from  reassuring,  and  a  long 
report  of  a  speech  by  the  Chief  Secretary,  who  had  come 
over  to  England  for  a  few  days,  had  irritated  and  angered 
her  almost  beyond  bearing.  It  was  at  this  very  place,  Mar- 
dentown, that  he  had  spoken,  and  as  she  x^aced  up  and 
down  the  platform,  trying  to  get  warm  and  to  take  that 
amount  of  exercise  which  is  so  necessary  to  all  ai-tistes,  yet 
so  difficult  to  fit  into  their  busy  lives,  his  name  constantly 
confronted  her  on  the  posters  at  the  bookstall.  It  kept 
breaking  in  upon  her  reverie,  which,  as  usual,  had  turned  in 
the  direction  of  Max  Hereford ;  it  seemed  as  though  some- 
thing forced  her  continually  back  from  thoughts  of  her 
lover  to  the  recollection  of  that  stern,  strong  man  who  held 
in  his  hands  the  destiny  of  her  people.  The  platform  had 
been  tolerably  clear  when  she  first  began  to  pace  to  and  fro, 
but  by  and  bye  she  noticed  that  it  was  becoming  incon- 
veniently crowded.  She  paused  at  the  bookstall,  bought  a 
copy  of  Howells'  "Lady  of  the  Aroostook,"  and  asked 
what  was  attracting  so  many  people  to  the  station. 

"  The  Chief  Secretary  is  leaving  by  the  12.30,  miss,"  said 
the  librarian ;  "  there  was  a  great  demonstration  here  last 
night." 

She  turned  away  without  any  remark,  but  had  hardly 
walked  a  hundred  yards,  when,  with  a  shock  of  surprise, 
she  recognized  in  the  crowd  an  Irishman  who  had  been 
living  at  New  York  when  they  had  first  made  their  home 
there,  years  ago.  He  was  a  man  who  belonged  to  the 
extreme  set  into  whose  hands  John  Desmond  had  fallen,  — 
a  man  utterly  unscrupulous,  and  capable  of  using  any  means, 
however  hateful,  which  would  carry  out  the  end  he  had  in 
view.     Slie  had  only  seen  him  twice  before  in  her  life^  but 


394  DOREEN 

her  father's  intense  dislike  of  him  had  strongly  impressed 
his  face  upon  her  mind,  though  it  was  in  no  way  remark- 
able. Moreover,  as  she  often  laughingly  said,  her  great- 
grandfather, the  Wicklow  blacksmith,  had  somehow  be- 
queathed her  one  royal  gift,  —  the  power  of  remembering 
those  she  had  met. 

A  horrible  fear  took  possession  of  her  mind.  Was  it  for 
nothing  that  this  notorious  man  mingled  with  the  crowd 
that  awaited  the  Chief  Secretary  ?  Was  it  not  a  known 
fact  that  plots  to  assassinate  him  were  rife  at  that  time  ? 
There  again  !  a  second  face  that  she  had  seen  before  flashed 
upon  her.  This  time  she  could  not  put  a  name  to  it,  but 
she  knew  when  and  where  she  had  seen  it.  It  was  at  a 
political  meeting  which  she  had  attended  in  Dublin,  on 
the  evening  of  her  arrival  in  Ireland  with  Max  and  his 
mother.  What  could  she  do  ?  What  ought  she  to  do  ? 
Of  course,  there  were  policemen  here,  and,  no  doubt,  detec- 
tives shadowing  the  Chief  Secretary  wherever  he  went,  but 
a  life  might  be  lost  in  spite  of  the  most  careful  precautions. 
Had  not  the  Czar  perished,  though  surrounded  by  those 
who  would  have  protected  him  ?  She  hurriedly  looked  at 
her  watch.  There  was  not  a  moment  to  be  lost.  In  twenty 
minutes'  time  the  express  would  leave,  and  she  thought  it 
very  probable  that  the  Chief  Secretary  would  be  her  very 
opposite,  and  instead  of  rushing  up  to  the  station  barely  in 
time,  would  arrive  a  good  ten  minutes  too  soon. 

''  Hagar,"  she  said  breathlessly,  looking  in  at  the  waiting- 
room  where  Mrs.  Muchmore  sat  knitting,  "I  shall  be  back 
before  long.  I  have  an  errand  in  the  town.  Wait  for  me 
here." 

She  was  gone  before  the  astonished  Mrs.  Muchmore  could 
frame  a  reply,  and  springing  into  a  cab,  she  bade  the  man 
drive  as  fast  as  possible  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Everest,  the 
member  for  Mardentown,  at  which  she  had  learnt  from  the 
newspaper  that  the  Chief  Secretary  was  staying  as  a  guest. 

The  cabman,  impressed  by  her  tone,  drove  at  a  great 
pace,  and  scarcely  waiting  for  the  cab  to  draw  up,  Doreen 


DOREEN  395 

sprang  out  and  ran  up  the  steps  to  the  open  door,  where  a 
servant,  with  a  portmanteau,  and  a  particularly  stolid-look- 
ing old  butler  stood  staring  at  this  strange  arrival. 

"  Has  the  Chief  Secretary  left  ?  "  she  inquired,  in  great 
excitement. 

"  He  is  just  leaving,  ma'am,  and  is  unable  to  see  any  one." 

"  I  must  see  him,"  she  said  emphatically. 

"He  is  at  this  moment  starting,  ma'am,  to  catch  the 
express,"  remonstrated  the  butler. 

But  Doreen  thrust  her  card  into  his  hand. 

"  Say  that  Miss  Doreen  O'Ryan  must  see  him  for  a 
moment,"  she  reiterated,  her  clear,  mellow  voice  sounding 
plainly  through  the  entrance  hall. 

At  that  moment,  to  her  relief,  the  Chief  Secretary  him- 
self appeared,  accompanied  by  two  gentlemen.  The  musical 
voice  and  the  familiar  name  had  struck  upon  his  ear.  He 
shook  hands  with  her  pleasantly. 

"  Another  suspect  to  be  released.  Miss  O'Eyan  ?  "  he  said, 
with  a  smile.  "  I  must  ask  you  to  make  the  story  short,  or 
we  shall  lose  our  train." 

He  led  her  into  the  room  he  had  just  quitted. 

"  I  have  come  to  entreat  you  not  to  go  by  that  train  at 
all,"  she  said  eagerly.  "  In  the  crowd,  waiting  to  see  you 
off,  I  have  just  recognized  two  of  my  countrymen,  who,  I 
greatly  fear,  are  dogging  your  steps.  One  of  them  is  a 
notorious  advocate  of  dynamite  and  a  man  who  justifies 
political  assassinations  ;  whether  his  face  is  known  to  the 
police  here,  I  do  not  know,  but  I  have  known  him  by  sight 
since  I  was  a  child,  and  I  could  not  mistake  him." 

The  Chief  Secretary's  stern  and  harassed  face  softened. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  come  thus  and  warn  me,"  he 
said ;  "  but  I  am  something  of  a  fatalist,  and  when  my  time 
comes  I  am  ready  to  go.  It  may  very  probably  be  as  you 
think  that  these  men  are  lying  in  wait  for  me.  I  have  had 
two  or  three  somewhat  narrow  escapes ;  but  I  must  go  to 
London  for  all  that,  for  I  have  work  to  do  there." 

"  Why  not  drive  to  the  other  station  ?  "  said  his  host  j  "it 


396  DOREEN 

would  surely  be  wiser,  and  the  other  line  will  get  you  up 
almost  as  soon." 

The  Chief  Secretary,  who  had  a  horror  of  any  personal 
fuss,  seemed  unwilling  to  consent  to  this  change  of  plans; 
but  Doreen,  quickly  reading  his  expression  and  anticipating 
his  refusal,  broke  in  eagerly. 

"  If  you  will  not  avoid  the  risk  for  your  own  sake,  then, 
at  least  avoid  it  for  the  sake  of  Ireland  ! "  she  cried. 

"What?"  he  exclaimed,  "you  approve,  then,  of  my  work? 
You  have  changed  your  views  ?  " 

"No,  no,"  she  cried  vehemently ;  "  I  don't  approve  indeed, 
but  I  would  not  see  my  country  disgraced  by  an  atrocious 
murder,  or  have  one  I  respect  killed  by  a  fanatic." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  or  two.  Doreen  noticed 
how  very  much  the  last  few  months  had  aged  the  Chief  Sec- 
retary. His  hair  was  almost  white,  his  deeply  furrowed  face 
struck  her  as  being  far  more  sad  and  careworn  than  when 
she  had  seen  him  in  the  Prime  Minister's  library.  Strong, 
stern,  unyielding  as  granite,  she  was  yet  certain  that  this 
man  had  a  very  tender  heart ;  he  had  coerced  her  country- 
men, had  treated  them  in  a  most  high-handed  way,  but  it 
had  been  because  he  believed  himself  to  be  doing  right,  just 
as  a  hundred  years  ago  loving  parents  would  most  severely 
beat  their  children,  though  it  pained  them  grievously  to 
do  it. 

"For  your  wife's  sake,"  said  Doreen,  with  a  vibration  in 
her  voice  that  strangely  moved  the  listeners,  "  do  not  run 
this  risk." 

The  Chief  Secretary  took  her  hand  in  his. 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,"  he  said,  a  rare  and  beautiful 
smile  lighting  up  his  careworn  face,  "And  believe  me,  I 
shall  always  remember  with  gratitude  and  pleasure  that 
there  was  one  Irishwoman  who  took  kindly  thought  for 
me." 

Ten  minutes  later  Doreen  re-entered  the  waiting-room, 
where  Hagar  Muchmore  still  sat  in  solitary  state  with  her 
Jinitting. 


DOREEN  397 

"For  the  land's  sake!"  exclaimed  the  good  woman, 
startled  out  of  her  self-possession.  "  Where  have  you  been  ? 
Why,  you  look  ready  to  drop." 

"  I  am  cold,"  said  Doreen,  taking  the  chair  which  Mrs. 
Muchmore  drew  up  to  the  fire  for  her,  and  trying  to  keej:) 
her  teeth  from  chattering. 

"Why,  your  hands  are  all  of  a  tremble,"  said  Hagar, 
"  and  your  face  as  white  as  a  sheet.  One  would  think  you 
had  been  face  to  face  with  death.  I'll  go  and  fetch  you  a 
cup  of  coffee ;  the  cold  has  just  got  into  you,  that's  what 
it  is." 

She  trotted  off  briskly  to  the  refreshment  room,  and 
Doreen  crouched  over  the  fire,  feeling  as  though  she  needed 
all  the  warmth  in  the  world.-  "Hagar  is  right,"  she  said. 
"  I  have  been  brought  face  to  face  with  the  true  death,  not 
our  good  friend,  the  Death-angel,  but  the  death  of  hatred 
and  revenge  and  murder.  Oh,  thank  God,  that  this  time, 
at  least,  its  ghastly  hand  is  stayed ! " 

At  this  moment  the  express  steamed  into  the  station; 
there  was  much  bustle  and  confusion  on  the  crowded  plat- 
form. Doreen  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out  over  the 
blind.  She  could  see  the  surprised  and  disappointed  look  on 
the  people's  faces  as  the  minutes  passed  by  and  the  Chief 
Secretary  did  not  appear.  She  also  saw  the  two  conspira- 
tors. One  of  them  stood  near  the  door  from  the  booking- 
office,  through  which,  presumably,  the  Chief  Secretary  would 
pass ;  the  other  seemed  to  be  moving  slowly  along  the  entire 
lengtli  of  the  train,  looking  into  every  carriage.  But  they 
watched  and  waited  in  vain;  the  bell  rang,  the  whistle 
sounded,  and  at  last  the  express  moved  off.  Doreen  returned 
to  her  place  by  the  fire.  A  sense  of  joyous  triumph  began  to 
take  possession  of  her;  the  crime  which  would  have  plunged 
her  country  into  yet  another  and  more  galling  era  of  repres- 
sion, which  would  have  alienated  the  sympathies  of  those 
who  were  beginning  to  say  that  there  had  been  too  much 
coercion,  had  been  checked.  The  Chief  Secretary  was,  for 
the  time  at  any  rate,  saved. 


398  DOREEN 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  kept  you  so  long  waiting/'  said 
Hagar,  returning  with  the  coffee,  "  but  the  place  was  that 
crowded  there  was  no  getting  through.  The  silly  folk  had 
all  come  to  stare  at  some  one  who  never  came,  after  all. 
Why,  you're  quite  a  different  colour  now." 

"  You  look  exactly  like  old  Mother  Hubbard,  Hagar.  I 
believe  you  are  almost  disappointed  to  come  back  and 
find  me  hale  and  hearty,"  said  Doreen,  with  her  irresisti- 
ble laugh.  "But  I  assure  you  I  want  the  coffee  badly 
enough." 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Hagar ;  "  it's  nothing  but  a  flush  from  the 
fire;  I  can  see  that.  And  I  am  really  glad.  Miss  Doreen, 
that  in  a  few  days  you'll  be  having  a  quiet  time  in  Ireland, 
and  a  holiday  from  singing ;  for  I  do  think  you  are  over- 
working yourself.  Eushing  from  one  side  of  England  to 
the  other,  and  singing  in  oratorios  two  nights  running,  is 
more  than  you  ought  to  do." 

Doreen  let  the  words  pass  without  contradiction,  but  she 
knew  well  enough  that  it  was  grief,  and  not  work,  that  was 
beginning  to  tell  upon  her. 

When,  the  next  day,  she  reached  home  late  in  the  after- 
noon, she  found,  however,  that  at  last  her  long  weary  waiting 
for  news  of  Max  was  at  an  end.  MoUie  came  flying  down- 
stairs to  meet  her,  with  a  cry  of  joy. 

"  Oh,  Doreen,"  she  said,  "  I'm  so  glad  you  have  come ;  for 
Mrs.  Magnay  is  here,  and  she  has  asked  us  to  a  party,  and 
she  wants  us  to  help  in  the  acting;  Bride  to  be  the  Dor- 
mouse, and  Dermot  the  Hatter,  and  me  to  be  Alice.  You 
will  say  '  yes,'  won't  you  ?  " 

A  glow  of  happiness  and  relief  filled  Doreen's  heart.  For 
not  one  of  Max  Hereford's  friends  or  relations  had  vouch- 
safed a  word  to  her  since  the  summer ;  and  though  she  had 
more  than  once  encountered  Miriam  since  that  miserable 
day  in  the  Brighton  train,  only  the  most  cold  and  formal 
recognition  had  passed  between  them. 

But  Esperance  behaved  precisely  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened.    Her  warm,  French  greeting,  her  eager  discussion  of 


DOREEN  399 

the  children's  party  which  was  absorbing  her  thoughts,  and 
afterwards  her  long  amusing  account  of  their  six  months  in 
Auvergne,  really  interested  Doreen ;  and  later  on,  when  the 
children  had  run  off  in  search  of  sundry  theatrical  proper- 
ties which  might,  they  thought,  come  in  usefully  for  "Alice 
in  Wonderland,"  Esperance  skilfully  turned  the  talk  on  to 
the  subject  she  knew  Doreen  longed  to  approach. 

"  We  tried  hard  to  persuade  Max  to  come  to  us  when  he 
left  Madeira,  and  to  see  what  a  real  French  country-house 
was  like.  But  he  was  too  lazy  to  take  the  journey.  He  is 
with  the  Herefords  now  at  Biarritz." 

"Is  he  any  the  worse  for  his  imprisonment?"  said 
Doreen. 

"He  said  very  little  about  himself  in  his  letter,"  said 
Esperance;  "only  that  he  was  convalescing,  that  he  intended 
to  stay  on  at  Biarritz  till  April,  and  that  the  Fir  dale  people 
still  retain  him  as  the  Liberal  candidate  after  a  good  deal 
of  talk  and  fuss  about  his  mistaken  arrest." 

"  I  had  heard  nothing  since  he  was  released,"  said  Doreen, 
"  except  that  he  was  going  straight  to  Madeira." 

"He  was  in  Madeira  for  some  weeks,  then  in  Spain  for  a 
time;  now  he  seems  to  have  settled  in  at  Biarritz  with  the 
Herefords,  who  will,  at  any  rate,  take  good  care  of  him. 
Claude  has  an  idea  that  his  illness  must  have  been  coming 
on  for  a  long  time ;  he  says  he  has  never  looked  the  same 
since  the  day  of  Mrs.  Hereford's  funeral.  I  can't  help 
hoping  that  this  long  rest  and  change  will  set  him  up  again, 
and  that  we  shall  find  he  is  his  old  self  when  he  returns. 
Doreen,  is  it  really  true  that  you  have  joined  the  Ladies' 
Land  League  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Doreen,  glad  that  her  companion  turned  to  an 
entirely  new  subject  without  waiting  for  a  response.  "  It 
is  quite  true.     Who  told  you  ?  " 

"Lady  Worthington  had  seen  a  paragraph  somewhere 
about  it.  Of  course  you  know  she  is  of  the  other  persua- 
sion, and  was  very  much  shocked  —  couldn't  understand  it 
at  all." 


40O  DOREEN 

^'I  daresay  she  thinks,  we  are  all  like  the  fifty  flighty 
young  ladies  from  America  depicted  in  ^ Punch/"  said 
Doreen,  smiling.  "  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  chief  work  is 
just  the  business-like  distribution  of  relief  to  those  in  dis- 
tress, and  the  supplying  huts  to  evicted  people.  As  I  do  not 
want  my  country-folk  to  be  forced  from  Ireland,  or  turned 
into  paupers  in  the  workhouse,  or  left  to  die  of  cold  and 
hunger  on  the  road,  which  is  their  only  other  alternative  if 
they  are  evicted,  I  naturally  join  the  League  and  do  the 
little  I  can  do  for  them." 

"  But,"  said  Esperance,  doubtfully,  ^'  people  over  here  are 
so  fond  of  you,  and  this  will  be  such  a  very  unpopular  step. 
Is  it  not  almost  a  pity,  just  when  your  reputation  is  made, 
to  risk  offending  every  one  ?  " 

"  Are  we  then  only  to  give  what  will  cost  us  nothing  ?  " 
said  Doreen,  with  a  light  in  her  eyes  that  startled  Espe- 
rance. "  I  have  not  rushed  into  this  without  thought.  It 
may  very  probably  injure  my  position,  and  popularity  is, 
of  course,  dear  to  the  heart  of  every  artiste ;  but  it  must 
stand  second  to  duty.  Let  justice  be  done  though  the 
heavens  fall." 

Esperance  looked  troubled. 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  "as  yet  I  have  heard  only  the 
landlords'  side  of  the  story,  and  Lady  Worthington  has 
kept  me  well  plied  with  tales  of  outrage  and  crime." 

"  Come  over  to  Ireland  with  me  next  Wednesday,  and  see 
things  from  the  other  side,"  she  replied  with  a  smile.  "  Lady 
Worthington  is  charming  as  a  friend ;  but  she  believes  in 
the  feudal  system,  and  understands  the  needs  of  the  people 
about  as  well  as  the  inhabitant  of  some  other  planet  might 
do."  ^  ., 

"  Do  you  really  go  to  Ireland  next  week  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Doreen.  "And  I  have  a  special  favour  to 
beg  of  you.  See  something  of  Mollie  and  Bride  while  I 
am  away.  They  will  be  well  take^i  care  of  here  by  Aunt 
Garth  and  Mrs.  Muchmore,  but  they  will  be  rather  dull. 
Leaving  them  behind  is  my  greatest  trial.     Bi^t  their  oth^r 


DOREEN'  401 

guardian  thought  it  a  pity  to  take  them  away  at  this  time 
of  year,  and  I  doubt  if  Dublin  would  suit  them." 

Esperance  promised  to  see  as  much  of  them  as  possible, 
and  as  she  drove  home,  began  to  revolve  kindly  schemes 
for  bringing  the  O'Ryans  into  closer  friendship  with  her 
own  children. 

"But,  after  all,"  she  reflected,  "it  is  Doreen  herself  who 
looks  as  if  she  needed  mothering.  I  should  dearly  like  to 
know  what  it  was  that  caused  those  two  to  break  off  their 
engagement.  I  wonder  whether  there  is  no  chance  of  setting 
things  right  again." 


CHAPTEE  XXXIV. 

"  We  look  into  the  heart  of  flowers 

And  wonder  whence  their  bloom  can  rise  ; 
The  secret  hope  of  human  hours 

Is  hidden  deeper  from  our  eyes. 
In  helpless  tracts  of  wind  and  rain 

The  work  goes  on  without  a  sound ; 
And  while  you  weep  your  weak  '  In  vain,' 
The  flower  is  growing  underground." 

M.  B.  Smedley. 

The  time  which  had  been  so  dark  for  D^een  had  been 
daily  brightening  for  little  Una  Kingston.  It  was  delight- 
ful to  watch  the  glow  of  health  returning  to  her  face,  and 
she  looked  younger  and  rounder  and  more  childlike  than 
she  had  ever  looked  since  her  father's  death.  It  had  been 
arranged  that  as  in  the  spring  she  would  be  free  from  the 
agent  who  had  nearly  killed  her  with  work,  Brian  Osmond 
should  order  her  to  go  abroad  from  February  till  the  end 
of  April,  and  that  she  should  then  be  put  into  the  hands 
of  the  trustworthy  Freen  to  begin  work  again  by  degrees, 
with  the  option  of  refusing  whatever  her  doctor  objected 
to.  Madame  De  Berg  was  not  sorry  to  avail  herself  of 
Doreen's  kindly  offices ;  and  though  the  two  had  as  little 
in  common  as  before,  they  were  on  better  terms  with  each 
other.  Doreen,  for  Una's  sake,  endeavoured  to  keep  the 
peace;  and  Madame  de  Berg  was  somewhat  mollified  by 
the  kindness  to  her  little  ward,  which  proved  so  convenient 
to  herself.  Moreover,  she  was  gratified  to  learn  that  her 
young  rival  was  to  be  in  Ireland  till  the  season  began,  and 

402 


DOREEN-  403 

that  slie  should  step  into  her  vacant  place  at  Boniface's 
concerts. 

It  happened  that  Doreen's  last  engagement  in  England 
was  a  concert  at  Guildford  early  in  January.  The  day  fol- 
lowing was  Mrs.  Hereford's  birthday,  and  she  had  long 
intended  to  drive  over  from  Guildford  to  Monkton  Verney, 
and  to  put  a  wreath  on  the  grave,  not  liking  to  think  that 
the  day  should  pass  without  any  recognition.  The  thought 
of  losing  so  much  of  her  last  day  with  the  children  did 
not,  however,  please  her,  and  to  their  great  delight,  she 
took  Una,  Mollie,  and  Bride  with  her,  enjoying  the  little 
sisters'  immense  appreciation  of  a  night  at  a  real  hotel, 
and  glad  to  have  them  with  her  when  she  drove  to  Monkton 
Verney. 

It  was  one  of  those  mild  winter  days,  when,  for  the  first 
time,  spring  seems  not  far  oif,  and  a  sense  of  growth  and 
hope  rises  in  the  heart.  The  sight  of  the  old  familiar 
places  made  Doreen  sad ;  but  the  children's  happiness  soothed 
her,  and  the  kindly  greetings  of  one  or  two  of  the  cottagers 
who  recognized  her  as  she  passed,  gave  her  genuine  pleasure. 
The  house  was  let  to  strangers,  but  the  children  did  not 
care  about  that.  They  had  eaten  a  picnic  lunch  in  the  car- 
riage, and  Doreen  knew  that  old  Goody  would  give  them 
tea  if  they  walked  across  the  park  to  her  cottage  while  the 
horse  was  resting. 

Having  visited  the  churchyard,  and  seen  the  ruins  of  the 
Priory,  they  proceeded  to  the  old  woman's  cottage,  and 
received  from  her  a  hearty  welcome.  For,  though  the  rich 
may  change,  or  move  altogether  from  the  neighbourhood, 
the  poor  are  generally  to  be  found,  and  they  are  always  ready 
to  give  of  their  best.  Goody  dusted  the  chairs  for  them, 
admired  the  children,  showed  them  a  faded  old  photograph 
of  Max,  as  a  small  boy,  mounted  on  a  Shetland  pony,  and 
did  the  honours  of  her  house  in  the  most  charming  way 
imaginable.  Nor  did  she  once  say  a  word  that  could  pain 
Doreen,  though  her  keen  old  eyes  read  much  of  the  truth  in 
the  girl's  sad  face.     She  bustled  about,  and  prepared  tea 

bb2 


404  DOREEN 

for  them,  and  kept  them  all  amused  with  her  quaint  old 
stories. 

"And  now,  Goody,  it  is  my  turn,"  said  Doreen.  "I 
must  sing  you  your  favourite  song.     Which  shall  it  be  ?  " 

"Well,  miss,  since  you're  so  obliging,  I  should  like  the 
*  Last  Rose '  only  to  the  other  words  you  always  used  to 
put  to  it." 

Doreen  smiled,  and  sitting  there  beside  the  hearth,  she 
sang  them,  "Oh,  Bay  of  Dublin,"  after  which  they  natu- 
rally fell  to  talking  of  her  visit  to  Ireland,  until  she  started 
up  in  some  dismay,  to  see  how  late  it  was  growing. 

Goody,  too,  seemed  distressed  as  she  opened  the  door,  and 
looked  across  the  park. 

"  I'm  thinkin'  you  had  better  be  goin'  round  by  the  road," 
she  said.     "  It's  over-late  for  you  to  be  goin'  yonder." 

"  Why,  Goody,  ^  the  moon  is  shining  as  bright  as  day,'  as 
the  children  sing,"  said  Doreen,  with  a  laugh,  "  and  the 
road  is  more  than  a  mile  further.  Oh,  we  shall  do  very 
well.     Come  — 

*' '  Una  of  the  golden  hair, 

White-necked  Una  'og  machree.'  — 

Wrap  this  shawl  well  round  you,  and  don't  open  your 
mouth  till  we  reach  the  carriage.  It  will  never  do  for  you 
to  take  cold  just  before  you  leave  England." 

Goody  looked  uncomfortable  and  perturbed ;  but  she  made 
no  more  remonstrances,  and  bade  them  good-night,  standing 
for  some  minutes  at  the  door,  to  watch  them  as  they  made 
their  way  towards  the  Priory. 

It  was  not  until  they  were  nearly  half-way  there  that 
Doreen  suddenly  remembered  why  Goody  had  disliked  the 
idea  of  their  crossing  the  park  so  late.  She  recollected  that 
it  was  always  on  moonlight  nights  that  the  ghost  appeared, 
and  she  would  hardly  have  been  a  true  Kelt  if  her  heart 
had  not  beaten  a  little  faster  at  the  thought.  Mercifully, 
the  children  were  quite  unsuspicious,  for  she  had  taken 
good  care   that  they  should  hear   nothing   of   the   story. 


DOREEN-  465 

Mollie  and  Bride  were  laughing  and  talking  together.  She 
joined  in  the  talk,  but  kept  her  eyes  ever  in  the  direction  of 
the  grim  old  ruin. 

"  Tell  Una  one  of  the  Irish  legends ;  they  would  please 
her,"  she  said. 

And  Mollie  began  obediently  to  tell  the  tale  of  how  the 
good  Countess  Kathleen  gave  up  houses  and  land  and  all 
her  wealth,  to  save  the  poor  from  selling  their  souls  to  the 
Evil  One. 

Doreen  had  schooled  herself  into  thinking  that,  after  all, 
the  Monkton  Verney  ghost  was  probably  a  vain  imagination 
of  the  country  folk,  when  suddenly  her  heart  seemed  to 
stand  still ;  for,  looking  toward  the  ruin,  she  clearly  saw  the 
very  figure  Goody  had  described  to  her  long  ago,  —  old 
Lord  Royle,  with  his  Elizabethan  ruff,  his  peaked  beard,  his 
cloak,  just  like  the  picture  that  hung  in  the  Hall.  Her 
extreme  fear  lest  Una  should  be  alarmed  made  her  walk 
resolutely  on  until  a  group  of  trees  hid  the  figure  from 
sight,  but,  as  she  walked,  a  feeling  grew  upon  her  that  she 
must  go  and  see  for  herself  what  this  spirit  wanted,  and  for 
what  reason  it  still  continued  to  haunt  the  Priory.  Was 
not  this,  perhaps,  her  last  chance  of  doing  anything  for 
Max  ?  The  thought  nerved  her  for  an  effort  which,  to  one 
of  her  temperament,  was  no  slight  struggle. 

"  I  will  catch  you  up,  children,"  she  said.  "  Keep  straight 
on  to  the  gate,  and  get  into  the  carriage." 

Una  nodded  assent,  and  Mollie,  who  was  deep  in  her 
story,  did  not  break  off  for  a  moment.  Doreen,  as  she 
walked  towards  the  ruin,  heard  the  clear  little  voice  saying, 
"  But  Kathleen  had  now  no  more  to  give,  and  there  were 
still  eight  days  before  food  for  the  people  could  come  in 
ships  from  the  West.  So,  at  last,  to  save  the  poor  from 
selling  their  souls,  she  sold  her  own  soul  for  a  great  price, 
and  the  money  lasted  the  Irish  till  the  corn  came.  But  the 
Lord  would  not  let  the  Evil  One  keep  the  soul  of  Kathleen 
who  had  so  loved  the  people." 

The  voice  died  away  in  the  distance,  and  Doreen,  emerging 


4o6  DOREEN 

from  behind  the  group  of  trees,  once  more  distinctly  saw 
the  ghost.  Her  breath  came  fast,  but  she  thought  of  Max, 
and  walked  steadily  on.  And  now  she  stood  actually 
within  the  ruin,  and  she  could  see  that  the  soft  evening 
breeze  lightly  stirred  the  folds  of  the  cloak;  her  knees 
trembled  beneath  her,  but  she  walked  bravely  right  up  to 
the  kneeling  figure  ;  she  even  put  out  her  hand  to  touch  it, 
and  could  hardly  believe  it  when  she  found  that  there  was 
absolutely  nothing  there,  —  nothing  but  a  shadow  upon  the 
wall.  Looking  round  in  her  relief  and  surprise  to  see  what 
object  could  cast  such  a  shadow,  she  found  that  it  was  an 
old  gargoyle,  that  a  broken  fragment  of  stonework  formed 
the  Elizabethan  ruff,  and  that  the  cloak  was  nothing  what- 
ever but  the  ivy  hanging  upon  the  wall.  She  picked  two 
or  three  leaves  as  a  memorial  of  her  visit,  praying  as  she 
had  so  often  prayed  before,  that  the  wrongs  of  the  past 
might  be  set  right  as  far  as  was  possible,  and  that  Max 
might  be  the  man  to  do  the  work. 

"  Old  Goody  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  her  prophecy  has 
come  true,  and  that  I  was  the  one  to  lay  the  ghost,"  she 
thought  to  herself,  with  a  smile,  as  she  turned  to  leave  the 
building,  and  then  a  remembrance  of  that  past  time,  when 
her  lover  had  stood  beside  her  in  the  bright  spring  morning, 
when  all  the  world  had  seemed  full  of  bliss,  brought  the 
tears  to  her  eyes ;  and  as  she  crossed  the  park,  she  cried 
quietly  but  very  bitterly  as  she  thought  of  the  hopeless 
gulf  that  now  stretched  between  them. 

The  children  told  legends  most  of  the  way  back  to  Guild- 
ford, and  neither  Mollie  nor  little  Bride  guessed  her  trouble  ; 
but  Una  knew  all  about  it  in  spite  of  the  dim  light,  and  she 
clung  to  her  friend  with  that  pathetic,  loverlike  devotion 
which  amused  and  yet  deeply  touched  Doreen. 

"  She  is  thinking  of  Max  Hereford,"  thought  the  child  to 
herself.  "  There  is  very  little  I  can  do  for  her,  but  I  will 
be  to  her  what  Siebel  was  to  Margherita  " ;  and  all  through 
the  drive  a  phrase  from  Siebel's  song  rang  in  her  ears, — 

"  lo  ti  saro  fedeP  amico  onor." 


DOREEAT  407 

The  next  day  the  separation  took  place.  Una,  in  charge 
of  a  homely  and  sensible  German  nurse,  and  with  her  violin 
master  in  attendance,  was  despatched  to  Rapallo  until  May ; 
and  Doreen,  feeling  like  anything  but  a  *' strong-minded 
woman,"  took  leave  of  the  children  and  started  for  Ireland 
by  the  night  mail. 

But  her  spirits  rose  when,  after  a  night  of  woe  on  the 
Irish  Sea,  she  stepped  on  shore  at  Kingstown  just  as  the 
day  was  breaking.  Many  other  things  had  failed  her,  but 
her  dream  of  working  for  Ireland  was  to  come  true ;  and, 
indeed,  before  many  hours  had  passed,  she  found  herself 
established  at  a  desk  in  the  office  of  the  Land  League  in 
Upper  Sackville  Street,  laboriously  entering  upon  a  sheet 
of  white  ruled  foolscap  certain  entries  under  the  following 
heads : — 

"County.    Parish.    Landlord.    Disburser  of  Grants.    Observations." 

The  observations  came  as  a  sort  of  bonne  houche  at  the 
end,  and  were  sometimes  interesting.  They  consisted  chiefly 
of  the  amount  of  relief  given  to  the  tenants,  the  name  of 
the  person  who  could  best  supply  information,  details  of 
how  to  reach  out-of-the-way  places  by  rail,  boat,  and  car, 
and  now  and  then  a  remark  that  such  and  such  a  tenant 
had  been  considered  unworthy  of  relief,  and  that  the  case 
should  be  closely  inquired  into. 

After  about  a  week  of  office  work,  she  was  allowed,  to 
her  great  delight,  to  travel  into  a  remote  part  of  Donegal, 
where  they  succeeded  in  supplying  huts  to  some  of  the 
miserable  people  who  had  been  evicted.  She  had  never 
before  witnessed  anjrthing  like  the  deplorable  condition  of 
these  poor  fellow-countrymen  of  hers,  their  indescribable 
rags,  their  half-starved  look.  As  far  as  she  could  make 
out,  they  lived  principally  in  the  hard  times  upon  sea- 
weed, Indian  meal  being  accounted  a  luxury  for  festivals. 
Surely  help  was  urgently  demanded  for  people  in  such 
extremity !    Their  patient  endurance  astonished  her.    Visit- 


4oS  DOREEN^ 

ing  one  of  the  miserable  cabins,  from  which  the  tenants 
were  expecting  shortly  to  be  evicted,  she  saw  that  the  bed- 
clothes for  a  family  of  six  children  consisted  only  of  a 
couple  of  old  sacks. 

"  How  do  they  keep  warm  these  bitter,  cold  nights  ? " 
she  asked,  pityingly. 

"  Och !  thin,  lady,  ye  see  there's  a  dale  o'  warmth  in 
children,"  said  the  mother,  with  a  patient  smile  on  her 
thin  face. 

There  might  be  a  "dale  o'  warmth,''  but  there  was  not 
much  strength  in  the  children,  as  Doreen  speedily  discov- 
ered. She  had  sung  a  bright,  cheery  song  to  them,  to  the 
huge  delight  of  all. 

"  Now  you  sing  to  me,"  she  said.  "  Let  me  hear  you  sing 
^  God  save  Ireland.' " 

And  they  tried  obediently,  but  the  poor  little  half-starved 
children  could  not  manage  even  one  song,  and  Doreen  went 
away  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  reflecting  that  even  Jenny  Lind 
on  a  diet  of  sea-weed  might  chance  to  lose  her  voice. 

Still,  bitterly  as  she  felt  the  cruel  sufferings  of  the 
people  under  the  present  system  of  landlordism,  she  could 
not  always  agree  with  all  that  was  said  at  the  various 
indignation  meetings  got  up  by  the  Ladies'  Land  League, 
nor  could  they  ever  induce  her  to  speak. 

"I  have  not  come  to  talk,"  she  always  replied,  when 
urged  to  take  part  in  denouncing  the  Government.  "I 
have  come  to  see  and  to  help  the  people." 

And  her  practical  help  proved  so  prompt  and  satisfactory 
and  careful  that  they  were  obliged  to  take  her  at  her  word 
and  believe  that  she  had  no  gift  for  public  speaking. 

One  evening,  when  she  was  talking  by  the  fireside  to 
Donal  Moore's  wife,  while  his  little  son  sat  on  her  knee 
making  impressions  on  his  plump  arm  with  that  same  seal 
which  she  had  played  with  at  the  time  of  her  father's 
arrest,  the  door  opened  and  one  of  the  secretaries  of  the 
League  entered. 

"Miss  O'Eyan,"  she  said  when  the  greetings  were  over, 


DOREEN  409 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  if  you  will  go  down  to  the  south  with 
me  this  evening.  I  have  just  received  news  that  some  most 
harsh  evictions  are  to  take  place  to-morrow  morning  on  Mr. 
Haman's  estate,  and  the  only  chance  of  preventing  them  is 
to  go  off  at  once  by  the  7.45.  I  think  you  can  do  good 
service.     Will  you  come  with  me  ?  " 

Doreen  gave  a  ready  consent,  and  it  was  arranged  that 
she  should  meet  the  secretary  at  Kingsbridge,  in  time  for 
the  train.  Although  she  could  not  speak  in  public,  she  was 
a  very  practical  and  useful  assistant,  being  well  used  to 
travelling,  understanding  the  ways  of  the  country,  and 
possessing  that  cheerful  buoyancy  of  nature  that  tells  so 
much  in  a  campaign. 

"  You  look  as  pleased  as  though  you  had  received  high 
promotion,"  said  Mrs.  Moore,  when  they  were  once  more 
left  alone. 

"  It  is  exactly  what  I  like  best,"  said  Doreen,  "  and  com- 
ing at  the  end  of  several  days  of  desk  work,  it  is  all  the 
more  delightful.  One  pays  for  it  afterwards,  though,  in  the 
dreadful  memories  stamped  on  one's  brain.  There  are 
scenes  in  Donegal  that  I  can  never  forget  as  long  as  I  live, 
—  the  hopeless  misery  of  the  people,  the  way  in  which,  for 
years  and  years,  it  has  been  made  simply  impossible  for 
them  to  struggle  on  to  better  things.  I  don't  wonder  that 
there  has  been  disorder  and  crime ;  the  only  marvel  is  that 
so  many  have  been  found  to  endure  bravely.  They  couldn't 
have  done  it  but  for  the  unconquerable  hope  that  one  day 
this  horrible  system  of  landlordism  shall  be  abolished. 
They  couldn't  have  struggled  on  with  such  desperate  patience 
had  it  not  been  for  their  strong  faith  that  there  is  a  God 
who  will,  somehow,  bring  good  out  of  all  these  centuries  of 
evil." 

As  she  spoke,  she  had  been  softly  caressing  the  little 
child's  shining  curls.  He  drew  her  hand  down,  and  pressed 
it  to  his  lips,  with  a  pretty,  gracious  little  gesture. 

"  Dear  hand ! "  he  said,  in  a  tone  which  made  them  both 
smile. 


4IO  DOREEN 

"  That  child  is  just  like  a  lover  to  you/'  said  Mrs.  Moore. 

"  Bridget  dot  a  lover  what  walks  on  Sundays,"  said  the 
little  boy.     "  Have  'oo  dot  a  lover  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  buy  'oo  one  on  'oo  next  birfday,"  he  said  generously. 

She  laughed,  and  carried  him  off  with  her  while  she  got 
ready  for  the  train,  and  Mrs.  Moore  heard  her  singing  to 
him,  as  she  packed  her  bag :  — 

"Far  he  wandered,  far  he  wandered, 
But  his  spirit  found  no  rest ; 
For  his  thoughts  were  ever  turning 
To  the  green  Isle  in  the  West. 

"All  his  travels,  all  his  travels. 
Over  land  and  over  sea. 
Made  his  heart  more  soft  and  tender 
To  Ireland  and  to  me." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

"  We  must  not  fail,  we  must  not  fail, 
However  fraud  or  force  assail ; 
By  honour,  pride,  and  policy, 
By  Heaven  itself  !  —  we  must  be  free. 

**  We  took  the  starving  peasant's  mite 
To  aid  in  winning  back  his  right, 
We  took  the  priceless  trust  of  youth  ; 
Their  freedom  must  redeem  our  truth. 

**  We  promised  loud,  and  boasted  high, 
*  To  break  our  country's  chains  or  die ' ; 
And,  should  we  quail,  that  country's  name 
Will  be  the  synonym  of  shame. 

"  But  —  calm,  my  soul !  —  we  promised  true 
Her  destined  work  our  land  shall  do  ; 
Thought,  courage,  patience  will  prevail ! 
We  shall  not  fail  —  we  shall  not  fail ! " 

Thomas  Davis. 

Curled  up  in  the  corner  of  a  railway  carriage,  with  her 
fur  cloak  closely  wrapped  about  her,  Doreen  fell  asleep  that 
night,  and  dreamt  comforting  dreams  of  Max.  It  was 
somewhat  dreary  to  wake  in  a  badly  lighted  station,  to 
stumble  out  sleepily  in  the  small  hours,  and  to  have  to 
superintend  the  conveyance  of  the  huts,  which,  all  ready 
for  erection,  were  being  brought  to  these  forlorn  people  in 
the  south.  There  was  little  hope  that  the  evictions  could 
be  prevented,  but  they  hoped,  by  making  a  very  early  start 

411 


412  DOREEN 

in  the  morning,  to  get  to  the  place  before  the  sub-sheriff, 
and  warn  the  people.  Unluckily,  at  the  last  moment,  there 
was  some  little  delay  in  getting  a  car,  and,  to  their  great 
annoyance,  when,  in  the  faint  morning  light,  they  set  out  on 
their  bleak  drive  of  thirteen  miles,  they  found  that  the 
sub-sheriff  had  got  the  start  of  them,  accompanied  by  his 
bailiffs,  and  attended  by  a  force  of  sixty  police. 

The  country,  with  its  low  stone  walls  and  dreary  stretches 
of  bog,  looked  desolate  indeed,  and  the  piercing  wind  made 
Doreen  shiver  from  head  to  foot.  The  thought  of  whole 
families  being  turned  out  of  their  homes  in  such  bitter 
weather  raised  a  storm  of  indignation  in  her  heart.  If 
only  they  could  manage  to  resist;  but  it  was  little  likely 
that  the  people  would  be  prepared,  and,  through  the  unfor- 
tunate delay  in  starting,  they  seemed  to  have  lost  their 
golden  opportunity. 

"  If  ye  could  but  go  as  the  crow  flies,  ma'am,"  said  their 
jolly-looking  car-man,  "'twould  be  foine  and  aisy  to  bate 
the  sub-shiriff ;  but  ye  can't  drive  an  outside  car  through  a 
river." 

"  Is  there  then  a  short  cut  in  that  direction  ?  "  asked  the 
elder  lady,  looking  down  at  the  river  which  flowed  lazily 
along  to  the  right  of  the  road. 

"  Sure,  thin,  and  it  is  but  a  mile  through  yonder  fields 
till  ye  come  to  Maurice  Mooney's  farm,  but  by  the  road  'tis 
five  miles  round  intirely." 

"  Maybe  there  is  a  ford,"  said  Doreen,  eagerly.  "  Stop, 
and  let  us  ask  that  man  who  is  coming  along." 

The  man,  a  red-haired,  hungry-looking  fellow,  whose 
gaunt  shoulders  were  plainly  visible  through  the  great  holes 
in  his  ragged  shirt  and  coat,  replied  that  there  certainly  was 
a  ford  where  a  man  might  cross  the  river  well  enough. 

^'  Could  you  carry  a  lady  across  ?  "  said  the  secretary. 

The  man  looked  dubiously  at  his  rags.  He  replied  that 
he  could  do  it  easily  enough  if  the  lady  desired  it. 

"Let  me  go,  pray,  let  me  go,"  said  Doreen,  springing 
down ;  and  her  companion  reflecting  that  she  was  lighter, 


DOREEN  413 

aiid  likely  also  to  walk  more  briskly,  gave  permission,  and 
bade  the  car-man  to  drive  on.  As  for  Doreen,  she  scrambled 
over  the  stone  wall,  ran  down  the  grassy  bank  and,  fervently 
hoping  that  the  red-haired  knight-errant  was  sure-footed, 
began  to  consider  how  she  was  to  mount  his  back. 

He  stooped  gallantly,  and  shaking  with  laughter  she 
scrambled  up  as  best  she  could ;  then  with  a  horrible  lurch, 
her  bearer  rose  and  stepped  cautiously  down  into  the  river. 

"  You  are  like  St.  Christopher,"  she  said.  "  He  spent  a 
great  part  of  his  life,  you  know,  in  carrying  travellers  over 
a  river.  I  want  to  reach  Maurice  Mooney's  farm  to  warn 
him  that  the  sub-sheriff  is  coming." 

"  God  and  Mary  bless  you,  for  the  kind  heart  that  gave 
you  the  thought,"  said  her  bearer,  splashing  knee-deep 
through  the  icy  water.  "  It's  meself  that  will  show  you  the 
shortest  way  across  the  fields.  They'll  be  evicting  Dan 
Mooney,  too,  I'm  thinking;  that's  his  brother  that  shares 
the  farm." 

As  he  spoke  he  stepped  on  to  terra  firma,  to  Doreen's 
great  relief.  She  thanked  him  heartily  and  rewarded  him 
for  his  services ;  he  seemed  half  reluctant  to  accept  the 
money,  and  in  the  end,  Doreen  plainly  saw  that  it  was  a 
case  of  "  My  poverty,  but  not  my  will,  consents.'^ 

She  was  glad  enough  to  have  his  guidance  over  the  inter- 
vening fields,  and  as  they  hurried  along,  she  learned  from 
him  that  in  all  four  families  had  been  visited  by  the  process- 
server,  and  were  liable  to  be  evicted.  The  Mooneys  lived 
in  separate  houses  adjoining  each  other,  and  their  farm  con- 
sisted of  sixty  acres.  They  had  lived  on  it  for  generations, 
and  had  fallen  into  great  poverty  of  late  owing  to  the  bad 
harvests.  The  fairly  comfortable  stone  house  which  Doreen 
could  now  plainly  see  had  been  built  entirely  by  themselves, 
and  she  learned  that  to  add  to  their  troubles  the  old  bed- 
ridden grandmother  had  been  more  than  usually  ailing,  and 
that  Maurice  Mooney's  wife  had  an  infant  of  barely  three 
weeks. 

"Ye'll  bate  the  eviction  party  yet,  lady,"  said  the  red- 


414  DOREEN- 

haired  knight,  with  a  broad  smile  of  satisfaction  on  his  thin 
face,  "and  if  you'll  tell  the  news  to  the  Mooneys,  I'll  run 
on  to  Tim  Magee's  and  the  Murphys'." 

With  somewhat  breathless  thanks,  for  they  had  been 
going  at  full  speed  over  the  rough  ground,  Doreen  parted 
with  her  trusty  helper  and  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  little 
farm. 

"  God  save  all  here ! "  she  said,  as  a  child  appeared  to  bid 
her  enter.  The  pretty  old  Irish  greeting  appealed  at  once 
to  the  occupants  of  the  room. 

"  God  save  you  kindly  ! "  they  replied  courteously. 

It  was  piteous  to  see  the  consternation  in  all  faces  when 
she  fold  them  that  in  a  few  minutes  the  sub-sheriff  and  his 
bailiffs  and  sixty  police  would  be  upon  them.  There  was 
an  instantaneous  rush  to  bolt  and  bar  the  door,  and  to  bar- 
ricade the  window ;  and  Doreen,  who  had  orders  to  encour- 
age them  to  resist,  but  to  restrain  all  useless  and  irritating 
attacks  on  the  police,  left  this  work  to  their  hands,  and 
crossing  to  the  comfortless-looking  bed  in  the  corner,  bent 
down  to  speak  to  the  aged  woman  whose  painful  agitation 
was  sad  to  see. 

"It'll  be  the  death  of  me,  lady,''  she  said,  in  a  high, 
quavering  old  voice,  "and  if  I  could  but  have  seen  the 
praist,  God  knows  I'd  be  willing  enough  to  go.'' 

"Let  us  send  one  of  the  children  to  fetch  the  priest," 
said  Doreen ;  and  Maurice  Mooney  readily  consented  to  the 
plan,  and  despatched  his  eldest  son,  a  lad  of  twelve,  to  ask 
the  priest  to  come  at  once  and  administer  the  last  Sacra- 
ments. Then  they  waited  in  hushed  suspense,  listening  for 
the  dreaded  sounds  of  the  evicting  party.  There  was  noth- 
ing else  to  be  done.  The  place  was  bare  and  comfortless, 
the  furniture  so  scanty  that  it  was  easy  to  guess  how  all 
that  could  be  spared  had  gone  for  food ;  the  only  cheering 
thing  was  the  fire  round  which  sat  six  pretty  little  children, 
their  faces  full  of  wonder  and  interest,  for  they  did  not  in 
the  least  understand  why  the  lady  had  visited  them  or  why 
the  shutters  were  clQsed  at  such  an  hour  in  the  morning. 


DOREEN  415 

In  the  dim  light  Doreen  could  see  the  outline  of  Maurice 
Mooney's  face.  It  bore  an  expression  of  bitter  resentment, 
of  strong  indignation.  What  had  he  done  that  such  hope- 
less ruin  should  have  overtaken  him  ?  Was  it  his  fault 
that  his  fathers  before  him  had  been  ground  down  by  rack 
rents?  Was  it  his  fault  that  the  harvests  had  failed? 
And  who  was  this  landlord  wlio  demanded  rent  when  the 
land  could  not  possibly  do  more  than  support  those  who 
tilled  it?  He  was  a  man  who  could  afford  to  keep  his 
hunters  in  excellent  stables,  but  who  protested  that  he 
could  not  afford  to  allow  the  Mooneys  to  remain  upon  the 
farm,  though  economic  rent  had  practically  disappeared, 
and  it  was  difficult  for  the  two  brothers  to  keep  themselves 
and  their  families  in  the  bare  necessaries  of  life. 

Doreen,  hopeful  to  the  last,  thought  that  no  landlord 
could  be  so  brutal  as  to  turn  out  upon  such  a  day  the  poor 
sickly-looking  wife,  the  new-born  infant,  and  the  old  bed- 
ridden mother,  to  whom  exposure  to  the  bitter  cold  must 
mean  cruel  suffering  if  not  death.  With  fast-beating  heart 
she  listened  to  the  sound  of  the  approaching  cars  and  to 
the  hum  of  voices  and  the  tramp  of  many  feet.  Then  the 
sub-sheriff  gave  a  thundering  knock  at  the  door,  demanding 
possession. 

Within  the  house  dead  silence  reigned.  Maurice  Mooney's 
face  darkened ;  he  made  no  response  whatever.  There  was 
a  second  summons,  and  Doreen,  seeing  that  the  ex-baby,  a 
little  fellow  of  two,  was  on  the  point  of  bursting  into  a  ter- 
rified roar,  took  him  in  her  arms,  and  began  to  play  with 
him  to  divert  his  attention.  A  consultation  seemed  going 
on  outside.  Then  a  crash  at  the  window  startled  them  all 
and  made  the  children  turn  pale  with  terror.  The  glass 
was  shivered  to  bits,  and  a  second  crash  broke  down  the 
shutters.  Maurice  Mooney  stepped  forward;  the  stormy 
wind  rushed  round  the  room,  making  the  poor  old  grand- 
motlier  cough  and  shiver.  Doreen  took  off  her  cloak  and 
wrapt  it  about  the  invalid;  then  she  picked  up  the  child 
again  and  listened  for  the  response  that  should  be  made  tQ 


4i6  DOREEN 

the  poor  farmer's  piteous  appeal  to  his  landlord  to  give  him 
yet  a  little  longer. 

"  Oh,  you'll  not  get  the  better  of  me  with  that  story  of 
your  dying  mother,"  said  a  comfortable,  rich-toned  voice; 
"she's  been  dying  any  time  in  the  last  three  years." 

Doreen  moved  towards  the  window  and  glanced  at  the 
crowd  of  men's  faces ;  the  police  in  the  background  looked 
as  though  they  hated  the  work  they  were  called  upon  to  do, 
and  she  fancied  that  the  sub-sheriff's  face  looked  troubled. 
She  instantly  appealed  to  him. 

"  May  they  not  at  least  wait  until  the  priest  has  come  ? 
They  have  already  sent  for  him  to  administer  the  last 
Sacraments,"  she  said.  "Come  and  see  for  yourself  how 
ill  the  poor  woman  is." 

The  sub-sheriff  came  forward  and  looked  into  the  room ; 
he  was  visibly  touched  by  the  distress  which  he  witnessed. 
He  went  back  and  spoke  a  few  words  to  the  landlord,  but 
there  was  no  yielding  in  that  quarter. 

"  What ! "  he  said,  "  are  six  dozen  good  Protestants  to  be 
kept  waiting  out  here  in  the  cold  until  it  pleases  the  priest 
to  come  and  perform  his  superstitious  mummeries  ?  Let 
them  get  to  work  quickly,  and  move  on  to  the  next  place." 

Doreen's  face  was  a  study.  To  hear  all  that  was  most 
sacred  to  the  Irish  people  thus  spoken  of  outraged  her 
sense  of  justice  and  of  reverence  as  nothing  else  could 
have  done.  The  landlord  saw  her  indignant  glance,  and 
was  stung  by  it.  Turning  aside,  he  spoke  to  his  servant, 
who  promptly  moved  away  to  the  road  where  the  cars  were 
in  waiting,  and  drove  off  at  a  rapid  pace. 

And  now  the  work  of  eviction  began.  One  of  the  bailiffs 
made  his  way  through  the  window ;  the  door  was  unbolted 
and  flung  open,  and  the  other  men,  hastening  in,  began  to 
carry  out  the  poor,  shabby  furniture.  Doreen,  still  with 
the  child  in  her  arms,  sat  to  the  last  beside  the  dying 
woman,  trying,  as  far  as  might  be,  to  divert  her  attention 
from  the  stripping  of  the  home  that  was  so  dear  to  her. 

"  (^od  bless  your  sweet  face,"  said  the  poor  old  soul,  as 


DOREEN  417 

the  tears  coursed  down  her  wrinkled  cheeks.  "I'll  niver 
cease  to  pray  for  you.  But  ochone  !  ochone  !  to  think  that 
they'll  pull  down  the  good  house  my  Thady  built ! " 

"  Don't  fret,"  said  Doreen,  as  tenderly  as  though  she  had 
been  speaking  to  a  child.  "  He  is  waiting  for  you  now  in 
a  far  better  home." 

"  Eh,"  said  the  grandmother,  her  face  lighting  up  through 
her  tears.  "And  I'll  soon  be  with  him  in  heaven,  where 
there's  niver  a  landlord  at  all,  at  all,  but  jist  the  one  Lord 
and  Father." 

The  tears  rushed  to  Dbreen's  eyes.  She  hastily  rose  and 
began  to  arrange  her  cloak  and  the  blanket  and  a  tattered 
coverlet  in  the  way  which  would  best  protect  the  poor  old 
woman.  She  could  see  that  the  rain  was  now  falling 
heavily,  and  her  heart  sank  at  the  forlorn  plight  of  these 
poor  people. 

One  of  the  policemen  came  and  spoke  to  her  respectfully 
enough. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  it,  lady,  but  our  orders  are  to  move  the 
old  woman  at  once.     We'll  do  it  as  gently  as  we  can." 

"  I  know  you  hate  the  work,"  said  Doreen.  "  Where  can 
she  be  taken  to,  I  wonder  ?  " 

At  this  moment,  to  her  great  relief,  her  companion,  the 
secretary,  appeared  upon  the  scene. 

"  Mrs.  Mooney  can  be  carried  to  John  Foley's  cabin  down 
the  road,"  she  said.  "  I  have  made  all  the  arrangements, 
and  her  daughter-in-law  and  the  baby  can  go  there  too. 
The  rest  of  the  children  must  shelter  as  well  as  they  can 
until  we  can  provide  for  them.  I  will  see  to  the  removal 
of  those  who  are  going  to  the  Foley s."     . 

She  drew  Doreen  aside  and  gave  her  instructions  in  an 
undertone.  The  girl  gave  a  cheerful  assent;  it  was  a  relief 
in  the  midst  of  this  horrible  scene  to  be  told  of  work  that 
could  be  promptly  done.  The  dying  woman  was  carried 
out  of  the  house,  and  the  secretary  led  away  the  poor  deli- 
cate-looking mother  with  her  tiny  infant,  Maurice  Mooney 
following  to  help  in  the  work  which  the  secretary  had 


4i8  DOREEN 

already  set  on  foot  in  a  little  lane  or  boreen  not  far  off. 
Here  on  a  bit  of  waste  ground  one  of  the  Land  League  huts 
was  already  in  course  of  erection. 

Doreen  had  orders  to  wait  with  the  children  and  the  Dan 
Mooneys,  who  were  also  being  turned  out,  until  the  police 
should  have  finished  their  work. 

The  most  pitiful  part  of  the  scene  was  yet  to  come.  The 
children,  through  all  the  confusion,  had  still  sat  huddled 
round  the  fire,  and  doleful  were  the  sobs  and  lamentations 
when  the  men,  gently  enough,  drew  them  away  and  bade 
them  turn  out  into  the  rain  and  cold.  Their  astonished 
blue  eyes  seemed  hardly  able  to  credit  such  a  state  of  things, 
and  Doreen,  thinking  of  her  little  sisters  at  home,  felt  the 
blood  boil  in  her  veins  at  the  thought  of  the  suffering  that 
lay  in  store  for  these  poor  little  victims  of  an  unrighteous 
system.  Luckily  she  knew  the  way  to  children's  hearts, 
and  as  they  were  brought  out  of  the  house  she  stilled  their 
wailing  voices  with  that  wonderful  panacea,  "  Come,  let  us 
make  believe ! " 

The  sub-sheriff,  though  of  course  he  theoretically  disap- 
proved of  the  Ladies'  Land  League,  could  have  found  it  in 
his  heart  to  bless  these  two  women  who  had  made  his  dis- 
tasteful work  a  little  less  cruel. 

^^We  will  pretend  it's  a  shipwreck,"  he  heard  the  mel- 
low, cheerful  voice  say  as  Doreen  led  the  six  shivering 
little  mortals  under  the  shelter  of  the  nearest  hedge.  Then 
he  saw  her  drag  across  a  table,  under  which  she  ensconced 
the  ex-baby  while  she  went  in  search  of  food  for  the  little 
ones,  returning  presently  with  some  sandwiches  from  her 
bag  and  a  great  hunch  of  bread  which  a  good-natured  car- 
man had  given  her. 

Meanwhile  the  landlord  had  ordered  the  work  of  unroof- 
ing to  begin,  and  the  air  resounded  with  the  clang  of  the 
crowbars  as  the  double  house,  which  had  sheltered  Maurice 
and  Dan  Mooney  and  their  families,  was  rendered  unfit  for 
habitation.  When  all  was  made  desolate,  the  evicting  party 
moved  on  to  another  farm  about  a  mile  off,  and  Doreen, 


DOREEN  4t9 

leaving  Mrs.  Dan  in  charge  of  the  shivering  little  mortals 
under  the  hedge,  made  her  way  to  the  by-lane  where  the 
hut  was  being  erected.  All  the  helpers  who  could  be  mus- 
tered were  busy  at  the  work,  and  Doreen,  who  had  more 
than  once  superintended  this  sort  of  thing,  stayed  to  direct 
matters,  setting  free  her  companion,  who  was  glad  to  go  on 
to  see  what  help  was  needed  by  the  other  families  whose 
homes  were  to  be  destroyed. 

The  wintry  wind  still  blew  pitilessly,  and  from  time  to 
time  there  were  heavy  showers  of  rain,  but  Doreen  was  too 
busy  in  giving  orders  and  encouraging  her  band  of  workers 
to  heed  the  weather.  For  hours  she  stood  directing  the 
willing  hands  of  the  kindly  neighbours  who  had  come  to 
see  the  evictions  and  had  been  pressed  into  active  service 
by  the  secretary,  and  a  glad  perception  that  the  work  was 
almost  completed  and  that  she  should  soon  have  the  children 
in  shelter,  filled  her  with  happiness. 

Suddenly  amid  the  deafening  noise  of  busy  hammers  she 
heard  a  shrill  boy's  voice,  and  looking  round,  saw  Maurice 
Mooney's  gossoon,  who  had  been  sent  for  the  priest. 

"  Stop ! "  he  cried,  ^^  there's  a  jauntin'-car  comin'  up  the 
boreen  with  the  police.     They'll  be  sendin'  ye  to  jail." 

Doreen  knew  that  this  was  likely  enough.  She  turned  to 
her  helpers. 

"  Run  off  into  the  woods,"  she  cried,  "  every  man  of  you ; 
for  all  who  have  helped  stand  in  danger." 

"  Bedad,  and  we'll  not  be  lavin'  you,"  protested  Maurice 
Mooney.     "  It's  yourself  that  has  bin  the  savin'  of  us." 

"  If  you  want  to  please  me,  hurry  back  to  your  children. 
There  is  no  need  for  us  all  to  suffer  for  this,  and  I  can  be 
best  spared.     Go,  go  before  it  is  too  late  ! " 

Her  eager  words  and  persuasive  manner  were  not  to  be 
resisted.  The  men  rapidly  dispersed;  only  the  boy  con- 
cealed himself  among  the  bushes  close  by,  curious  to  see 
what  passed. 

Doreen  had  the  satisfaction  of  looking  round  the  hut  and 
seeing  that,  although  not  absolutely  finished,  it  needed  a 

cc2 


420  DOREEN- 

very  few  touches  to  make  it  weather-tight.  She  could  hear 
the  wheels  of  the  car  in  the  little  lane,  but  to  the  last  she 
kept  to  her  work,  taking  real  pleasure  in  finishing  the  ham- 
mering down  of  a  board  upon  which  Dan  Mooney  had  been 
engaged.  She  looked  up  as  the  wheels  of  the  car  stopped, 
and  saw,  through  the  doorway,  that  two  constables  were 
dismounting.  Putting  down  the  hammer,  she  rose  to  meet 
them,  standing  in  the  doorway,  and  quietly  awaiting  their 
approach  in  a  manner  that  made  them  feel  uncomfortable. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  she  inquired  as  one  of  the  men  handed 
her  a  paper. 

"It  is  a  warrant  for  your  arrest,  madam,  as  a  ^suspect.' 
It  was  issued  after  your  visit  to  Donegal,  where  it  is 
believed  you  were  guilty  of  erecting,  or  causing  to  be 
erected.  Land  League  huts  similar  to  this  one." 

"  Very  well.  What  do  you  propose  to  do  with  me  ? " 
she  said  quietly. 

"I  must  trouble  you,  madam,  to  come  to  the  house  of 
the  nearest  magistrate,"  said  the  man,  leading  the  way  to 
the  car. 

Doreen  promptly  followed  him,  and,  as  they  drove  off, 
inquired  the  magistrate's  name.  The  reply  told  her  pretty 
plainly  what  she  had  to  expect,  and  by  the  time  they  had 
reached  the  great  man's  house,  with  its  imposing  faqade 
and  showy  entrance  hall,  she  had  had  leisure  to  look  her 
position  fairly  in  the  face. 

The  magistrate  glanced  at  her  curiously ;  he  had  heard 
of  her  doings  from  Mr.  Haraan's  messenger.  She  looked  to 
him  now  exactly  as  he  had  often  seen  her  look  while  waiting 
on  a  concert  platform  before  beginning  to  sing.  That  inde- 
finable air  of  dignity  and  goodness  made  his  work  particu- 
larly unpleasant  to  him. 

"I  am  told,  Miss  O'Ryan,"  he  said,  "that  you  have  been 
fording  rivers,  out-running  the  sub-sheriff,  encouraging  those 
who  were  to  be  evicted  to  barricade  their  doors  and  win- 
dows, and  generally  espousing  the  cause  of  the  disaffected. 
Is  this  true  ?  " 


DOREEN  421 

"  I  have  espoused  tlie  cause  of  my  own  people,"  she 
replied  quietly,  "and  have  tried  to  help  the  poor." 

"  Do  you  belong  to  the  Ladies'  Land  League  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  do." 

"  And  are  you  responsible  for  theerection  of  this  hut  for 
Mr.  Haman's  evicted  tenants  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  am  responsible." 

"  Are  you  not  aware  that  the  erection  of  these  huts  is  a 
punishable  offence  ?  that  it  is  ^  intimida,tion  '  ?  " 

A  little  smile  rippled  over  Doreen's  face. 

"  I  entirely  fail  to  see  who  it  can  intimidate,"  she  said. 
"  I  put  it  up  to  shelter  the  two  large  families  who,  for  the 
best  part  of  to-day,  have  been  forced  to  shiver  in  the  cold 
and  the  rain." 

"However  amiable  your  intentions,  you  must,  I  think, 
have  been  aware  that  you  were  breaking  the  law." 

"Yes,"  said  Doreen,  her  eyes  flashing;  "I  was  aware 
that  you  had  raked  up  some  old  statute,  made  in  Planta- 
genet  times,  against  tramps  and  prostitutes,  and  that  you 
dared  to  apply  it  to  us.  Happily,  there  are  still  older  docu- 
ments on  which  one  can  fall  back,  and  I  would  rather  try 
to  obey  God's  command  to  deal  my  bread  to  the  hungry, 
and  to  bring  the  poor  that  are  cast  out  to  my  house." 

"  I  have  not  the  slightest  wish  to  imprison  you,"  said  the 
magistrate,  shifting  a  little  uneasily  in  his  chair.  "  If  you 
will  undertake  to  keep  the  peace,  and  will  provide  the 
necessary  sureties,  you  need  not  go  to  jail ;  the  matter  rests 
entirely  in  your  own  hands ;  it  is  not  I  who  cruelly  imprison 
you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  exactly  by  keeping  the  peace  ? " 
asked  Doreen,  her  blue  eyes  looking  full  into  his. 

"  Of  course  I  mean  promising  not  to  build  these  huts," 
he  said,  with  annoyance  in  his  voice. 

"Then  I  have  no  option  but  to  refuse,"  said  Doreen, 
quietly;  "for  I  came  to  Ireland  on  purpose  to  help  the 
distressed  people." 

"Very  well,  Miss  O'Ryan,"  said  the  magistrate.     "You 


4^2  DOREEiV 

give  me  no  option  but  to  imprison  you.  I  will  make  it  a 
three  months'  sentence." 

Doreen  knew  that  some  of  her  fellow-workers  had  been 
sentenced  to  terms  of  three  months,  some  to  six  months. 
The  length  of  time  just  then  made  little  difference  to  her. 
She  had  got  out  of  the  region  of  temporalities,  and  a  great 
joy  was  filling  her  heart,  —  her  turn  had  come  to  tread  in 
the  steps  of  her  progenitors  and  to  suffer  for  her  country. 

Some  little  discussion  ensued  about  the  time  of  trains  at 
the  nearest  station  and  the  x^ossibility  of  reaching  the 
county  prison  that  evening.  Then,  at  a  word  from  one  of 
the  policemen,  she  bowed  courteously  to  the  magistrate, 
took  her  place  on  the  car,  and  was  driven  swiftly  down  the 
avenue.  As  for  the  magistrate,  he  stood  at  his  door,  watch- 
ing them,  musing  over  the  scene  in  which  he  had  just  taken 
part,  and  sorely  puzzled  that  a  girl  who  was  so  emphatically 
on  what  he  deemed  "  the  wrong  side  "  should,  by  the  mere 
expression  of  her  face,  have  startled  him  into  a  sudden  per- 
ception that  human  nature  is  divine. 

It  was  not  until  the  car  had  disappeared  from  view  and 
the  heavy  rain  had  once  more  begun  to  descend  that  it 
occurred  to  him  that  the  girl's  graceful,  willowy  figure  had 
been  very  slightly  clad  for  such  a  drive. 

"She  sat  on  the  car  like  one  to  the  manner  born,"  he 
reflected,  "but  it's  little  she  can  know  of  the  Irish  cli- 
mate !  Here,  you  boy ! "  he  exclaimed,  catching  sight  of  a 
small  figure  scurrying  past  him  like  a  frightened  hare, 
"  where  do  you  belong  to  ?  " 

"I'm  Maurice  Mooney's  gossoon,  yer  honour,"  said  the 
boy. 

"  Did  that  lady  leave  her  wraps  by  mistake  in  the  hut  ?  " 
asked  the  magistrate. 

"  Sure  thin,  yer  honour,  she  did  be  givin'  her  cloak  to  my 
grandmother,  and  it's  her  rug  I'm  thinkin'  that'll  be  wrapt 
about  the  childern  that's  bin  settin'  under  the  ould  table  all 
this  blissed  day." 

The  magistrate  made  an  exclamation  which  was  not  quite 


DOREEl^  423 

intelligible,  but  by  this  time  the  car  was  out  of  sight,  and 
only  a  very  distant  sound  of  horse  hoofs  was  to  be  heard. 
The  whole  landscape  seemed  blotted  out  by  the  sheets  of 
rain,  and  with  a  muttered  malediction  on  the  bad  climate 
and  the  headstrong  people,  the  magistrate  returned  to  his 
comfortable  fireside.  Meanwhile  Maurice  Mooney's  gos- 
soon hurried  off  to  his  family  and  gave  a  graphic  account 
of  all  that  had  passed. 

Doreen  would  have  been  touched  if  she  could  have  seen 
the  indignation,  the  sorrow,  and  the  gratitude  which  his 
recital  called  forth.  But  the  boy  somehow  knew  in  his 
heart  that  Doreen  was  not  the  one  who  needed  pity. 

"  Bedad,  and  it's  sorra  a  bit  that  ye  should  be  grievin' 
your  hearts,"  he  maintained  stoutly ;  "  for  I  could  see  the 
face  of  her  win  she  got  up  on  the  car  agin,  and  sure  'twas 
like  the  face  of  an  angel  in  heaven." 

"Och,  thin,  an'  it's  an  angel  they'll  be  makin'  of  her  in 
prison,"  said  Mrs.  Dan,  her  tears  flowing  fast.  ^'  God  bless 
her  sweet  sowl,  an'  may  the  landlord  sup  sorrow  for  this ! " 


CHAPTEE   XXXVI. 

*♦  Haply  no  more  music  and  mirth  and  love, 
And  glorious  things  of  old  and  younger  art, 
Shall  of  thy  days  make  one  perpetual  feast ; 
But,  when  these  bright  companions  all  depart. 
Lay  thou  thy  head  upon  the  ample  breast 
Of  Hope,  and  thou  shalt  hear  the  angels  sing  above." 

Frances  Anne  Kemble. 

"Something  must  be  said  to  Max,"  said  the  General, 
irritably.  "I  will  endure  this  state  of  things  no  longer. 
You  must  make  him  understand,  my  dear,  that  we  cannot 
allow  Miriam  to  be  the  talk  of  the  place." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Lady  Eachel,  soothingly,  "  I  think  you 
are  unreasonable.  The  two  have  been  like  brother  and 
sister  together  all  their  lives,  and  if  Biarritz  will  gossip 
about  them,  I  don't  see  that  we  can  help  it." 

"  Do  you  realize,"  said  the  General,  "  that  twice  over  I 
have  been  congratulated  about  the  engagement  ?  And  that 
talk  of  brother  and  sister  is  all  very  well,  but  Miriam  does 
not  treat  him  as  a  brother.  Surely,  with  your  tact,  and 
your  fondness  for  Max,  you  can  contrive  to  bring  him  to  the 
point.  He  is  wretched  now,  and  will  be  wretched  until  he 
is  married  and  settled.  His  whole  life  has  been  spoilt  by 
that  unlucky  affair  with  Miss  O'Eyan,  and  Miriam  is  the 
only  woman  he  seems  to  care  to  speak  to.  She  will  make 
him,  as  you  know,  a  most  excellent  wife ;  but  unless  some 
one  helps  on  matters,  I  don't  see  what  is  to  happen." 

"  There  is  nothing  I  desire  more  for  Miriam  than  such  a 

424 


DOREEN-  425 

marriage,"  said  Lady  Eachel.  "I  will  do  my  best  with 
Max;  but  it  is  a  very  delicate  matter,  and  I  don't  at  all  like 
interfering." 

"  Very  naturally,"  said  the  General,  in  a  suave  voice ; 
"but  then,  my  dear,  if  we  only  did  what  we  liked  doing, 
the  world  would  come  to  an  end." 

Lady  Rachel  sighed ;  her  husband  generally  left  her  the 
disagreeable  duties  to  perform.  She  did  not  murmur  at 
this,  but  it  sometimes  tried  her  when  at  the  same  time  he 
made  moral  reflections. 

Her  chance  of  a  talk  with  Max  occurred  that  very  eve- 
ning ;  for  Miriam  was  taking  part  in  some  private  theatricals 
got  up  by  the  English  in  aid  of  a  local  charity,  and  Max,  at 
the  last  moment,  decided  that  the  prospect  of  the  crowded 
room  and  the  noise  and  heat  outweighed  hi^  desire  to  see 
Miriam  play  the  part  of  the  heroine  in  "  Uncle's  Will."  He 
stayed  at  home,  and  Lady  Rachel  pleaded  a  slight  cold  and 
stayed  with  him.  They  had  a  comfortable  private  sitting- 
room  in  the  hotel,  and,  when  coffee  had  been  served,  Lady 
Rachel  began  her  campaign. 

"  I  am  sorry  not  to  see  dear  Miriam  act,"  she  said ;  "  but, 
after  all,  we  shall  have  other  opportunities,  and  it  is  just  as 
well,  perhaps,  that  you  should  not  be  there ;  it  might  have 
been  a  little  unpleasant  for  you  both.  Biarritz  is,  I  fear,  a 
very  gossipy  little  place ;  but,  after  all,  it's  the  same  every- 
where. These  English  colonies,  with  so  many  idle  people, 
must  gossip.     It's  the  only  thing  to  be  done." 

Max,  who  had  been  leaning  back  listlessly  in  an  arm- 
chair, with  a  bored  expression  on  his  face,  pulled  himself 
together,  with  a  feeling  that  something  unpleasant  was 
coming. 

"  What  have  they  been  saying  about  me  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Well,  I  really  hardly  know  whether  to  tell  you  or  not," 
said  Lady  Rachel.  "  But  I  think  some  one  must  speak,  and 
the  General  is  so  much  annoyed  about  it,  that  perhaps  it 
would  come  better  from  me.  I  have  been  like  a  mother 
to  you  this  winter^  Max^  and  you  must  not  mind  plain 
speaking." 


426  DOREEN 

Poor  Max  winced  at  this. 

"  You  have  been  very  kind/'  he  said  politely.  "  What 
is  it  that  has  annoyed  my  uncle  ?  Have  people  been  talking 
about  my  fortnight  in  Kilmainham  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  nothing  of  that  sort/'  said  Lady  Eachel,  hastily. 
"  All  that  has  quite  blown  over,  and  every  one  knows  that 
you  have  ceased  to  take  any  sort  of  interest  in  politics. 
No;  the  fact  is,  that  people  will  assume  that  you  are 
engaged  to  dear  Miriam.  Now  my  husband,  of  course, 
desires  to  see  her  settled  in  life,  and,  of  course,  anything  of 
this  sort  tells  very  much  against  a  girl's  chances.  There  is 
Lord  Stoughton,  for  instance,  who  certainly  admires  her 
very  much,  but  he  will  not  come  forward  if  he  thinks  that 
she  is  eugage(^  or  as  good  as  engaged,  to  you." 

"  Lord  Stoughton  ! "  exclaimed  Max.  "  Surely,  aunt,  you 
will  never  permit  her  to  marry  such  a  blackguard  as  that  ? 
Why,  I  would  rather  see  her  dead,  than  tied  to  that  man 
for  life." 

"  Indeed,  it  is  not  at  all  what  I  wish  for  her,"  said  Lady 
Rachel,  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  But  what  can  I  do  ? 
Her  father  insists  that  she  must  marry  well.  I  am  sure  the 
way  things  are  managed  in  England  is  less  satisfactory  than 
the  pure  business  settlements  carried  out  in  France.  What 
agony  and  sorrow  it  would  save  me  if  my  husband  could 
simply  arrange  a  marriage  for  Miriam  with  you,  in  a  matter- 
of-fact  way.  Why,  here  among  the  French  it  would  be 
the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world." 

"Well,"  said  Max,  with  a  short  laugh  in  which  there 
lurked  a  good  deal  of  bitterness,  " '  When  you  are  at  Rome 
do  as  Rome  does,'  is  a  good  old  proverb.  But  I  don't  for  a 
moment  think  that  Miriam  would  consent." 

"Ah,  you  are  very  much  mistaken,"  said  Lady  Rachel, 
shaking  her  head  sadly.  "  Think  from  what  a  fate  you 
would  be  saving  her." 

Some  interruption  occurred  just  then,  and  nothing  more 
was  said ;  but  when  Miriam  returned,  flushed  and  excited 
by  her  success,  and  looking  particularly  lovely  in  a  Spanish 


DOREEN-  427 

mantilla  and  a  pretty  evening  cloak,  a  sort  of  horror  sprang 
up  in  her  cousin's  heart  at  the  bare  idea  of  such  a  woman 
being  married  to  Lord  Stoughton.  She  was  evidently  quite 
unconscious  that  any  trouble  was  in  store  for  her ;  no  rumour 
had  as  yet  reached  her  that  people  were  beginning  to  gossip 
about  her  possible  engagement,  for  her  manner  was  frank- 
ness itself  as  they  parted  that  night. 

"  Did  you  order  the  horses  for  to-morrow  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  for  half-past  twelve ;  is  that  right  ?  " 

"I  wish  you  would  make  it  twelve,"  she  said;  "I  want 
so  much  to  ride  to  Cambo;  they  say  it's  the  prettiest  place 
in  the  neighbourhood,  but  it  is  rather  a  long  round.  We 
could  have  dijeHner  up  here  half  an  hour  earlier." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Max,  "  I  will  see  to  it,"  and  he  went 
off  to  his  room  feeling  just  a  little  less  like  a  man  who  has 
lost  all  interest  in  life  than  he  had  done  since  quitting 
Ireland. 

His  convalescence  had  been  slow  and  unutterably  tedious. 
The  order  for  his  release  had  been  supposed  to  be  given  on 
account  of  his  state  of  health ;  he  made  no  inquiries,  but 
simply  left  for  Madeira  as  quickly  as  possible,  fancying  that 
the  authorities  had  found  it  impossible  to  establish  a  chain 
of  evidence  with  regard  to  Foxell's  death,  and  that  Doreen's 
betrayal  had  simply  caused  his  arrest,  but  had  been  power- 
less to  do  any  more  mischief.  Had  she  come  to  Kilmainham 
in  a  fit  of  penitence,  he  wondered,  to  confess  to  him  that  she 
had  broken  her  oath  ?  At  times  he  almost  wished  he  had 
seen  her  and  heard  the  whole  story;  but  the  months  passed 
by,  and  he  became  more  and  more  absorbed  in  himself,  and, 
enfeebled  by  the  lazy,  luxurious  life,  he  thought  of  her  less 
and  less,  willingly  excluding  from  his  mind  all  that  inter- 
fered with  his  peace.  The  Herefords  had  been  very  good 
to  him,  and  he  had  certainly  found  in  his  cousin's  compan- 
ionship something  as  nearly  approaching  pleasure  as  he  was 
capable  at  that  time  of  feeling.  The  shock  of  hearing  that 
there  was  any  notion  of  marrying  her  to  a  man  who  would 
assuredly  make  her  miserable,  bad  stirred  into  life  his  better 


428  DOREEN 

nature,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that,  after  all,  perhaps  the 
arrangement  which  his  uncle  and  aunt  had  long  desired 
might  be  the  best  solution  of  the  difficulty.  His  life  was 
ruined ;  he  had  no  heart  left  at  all,  but  he  could  at  any  rate 
save  Miriam  from  much  misery. 

When  they  met  at  dejeilner  the  next  morning,  he  saw  at 
once  that  she  was  in  trouble ;  she  was  extremely  silent,  and 
he  even  fancied  that  she  had  been  crying.  The  General, 
too,  had  a  ruffled  look,  as  though  he  had  been  arguing  hotly, 
and  Lady  Eachel  did  not  appear  at  all :  she  was  in  bed  with 
a  bad  headache. 

The  cousins  started  together  on  their  ride  with  scarcely 
a  word ;  but  the  sunshine  and  the  delicious  air  were  exhila- 
rating, and  they  were  both  young  enough  to  be  refreshed  by 
the  lovely  sense  of  spring  in  winter  which  comes  to  one  in 
the  south.  Away  in  the  distance  was  the  long,  snowy  chain 
of  sharply  serrated  Pyrenees,  —  La  Ehune,  the  nearest,  look- 
ing lofty  and  majestic  in  its  snowy  mantle.  In  the  foreground 
the  mossy  banks  were  covered  with  violets  and  primroses, 
and  the  quaint  little  town  of  Isturitz,  with  its  fern-covered 
walls,  delighted  them. 

"What  makes  uncle  so  worried  this  morning?"  asked 
Max,  as  they  rode  leisurely  through  the  lovely  woods  of  birch 
and  chestnut. 

"  Oh,  the  usual  miserable  story,"  said  Miriam,  with  a 
sound  of  tears  in  her  voice.  "He  wants  me  to  marry. 
Wants  me  to  be  specially  civil  to  that  hateful  Lord  Stough- 
ton.  I  have  been  forced  at  last  to  promise  that  I  will 
accept  some  suitable  offer  before  the  end  of  the  season. 
You  see,  Max,  you  and  I  are  getting  terribly  old.  We  are 
twenty-nine.  Think  of  that !  We  shall  be  thirty  in  the 
summer ;  and  papa  considers  no  woman  any  good  after  she 
is  thirty.  Eeally  sometimes  when  I  hear  him  talk  like  that, 
I  feel  inclined  to  go  and  bury  myself  in  a  convent  like 
those  Bernardines  we  saw  at  Anglet.  Or  I  think  I  would 
be  a  Soeur  de  Marie,  because  they  are  allowed  to  talk,  and 
they  keep  the  rabbits  and  the  flowers^  and  are  on  the  whole 


DOREEN  429 

tolerably  lively.  At  any  rate,  one  would  be  spared  that 
feeling  of  degradation,  and  would  not  be  classed  among  the 
useless  before  one  had  reached  middle  age." 

"  It  is  only  men  of  a  certain  stamp  who  would  agree  with 
Uncle  Hereford's  verdict,"  said  Max,  drily. 

" Maybe,"  said  Miiiam,  with  a  sigh.  '' But  I  have  told 
you  my  fate.  I  don't  want  to  marry  at  all ;  but  if  it  must 
be,  why  then  I  must  put  up  with  it,  and  perhaps  Lord 
Stoughton  would  do  as  well  as  most  people." 

They  were  riding  now  up-hill.  The  road  overhanging  the 
river  Nive  was  lovely  in  the  extreme.  Max  felt  strangely 
stirred  by  his  cousin's  speech. 

"  Miriam,"  he  said  eagerly,  "  you  must  not,  you  shall 
not,  marry  that  man  without  knowing  the  truth  about  him, 
—  he  is  not  fit  to  touch  the  hem  of  your  garment ;  life  with 
him  would  be  hell  on  earth." 

She  turned  pale.  "  Very  well.  Max,"  she  said ;  "  but  you 
must  remember  I  have  promised  to  be  off  my  father's 
hands  somehow  by  the  time  we  leave  London  in  July." 

"  I  have  not  much  to  offer  you,"  said  Max.  "  You  know 
my  stor^^,  and  that  I  have  little  faith  in  love,  and  protesta- 
tions, and  vows  of  eternal  devotion.  But  I  would  try  to 
make  you  happy,  Miriam,  if  you  would  marry  me." 

Miriam  hesitated.  She  looked  into  his  cold,  passionless 
eyes,  and  knew  that  this  was  not  the  same  Max  at  all  who 
had  once  loved  Doreen. 

An  amused  and  yet  a  rather  pathetic  look  came  into  her 
face. 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  you,  Max,"  she  said  frankly.  "  But 
I  don't  know  whether  we  should  get  on  together,  except  as 
we  are  now." 

"I  do  not  pretend  that  there  would  be  much  romance 
about  our  engagement,"  said  Max ;  "  but  it  might  save  you 
from  a  worse  fate ;  we  are  very  good  friends,  and  know  each 
other's  ways.  I  should  think  we  had  as  good  a  chance  of 
happiness  as  most  married  people." 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Miriam,  with  a  gleam  of  amu*=!e- 


430  DOREElSr 

ment  in  her  dark  eyes  j  "  let  us  try  for  a  time  how  we  get  on 
as  an  engaged  couple.  We  will  only  tell  my  father  and 
mother,  and  it  shall  not  be  announced  to  the  world  in  gen- 
eral till  the  middle  of  June,  let  us  say.  Then,  if  we  have 
not  seriously  fallen  out,  we  can  think  about  settlements 
and  trousseaux,  and  so  forth." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Max,  quietly ;  "  if  such  a  plan  suits  you, 
and  is  approved  by  my  uncle  and  aunt,  I  have  no  objection. 
I  would  rather  see  you  in  your  coffin  than  married  to  Lord 
Stoughton.  There  seems  to  me  no  reason  at  all  that  we 
should  not  get  on  very  happily  together." 

"And  you  must  keep  your  radical  views  decently  in  the 
background,"  said  Miriam,  laughingly ;  "  but  indeed  I  think 
you  have  entirely  changed  your  nature ;  for  I  have  hardly 
seen  you  touch  a  newspaper  since  you  came  here,  and  you 
have  not  once  bored  me  with  your  tiresome  theories  of 
reform." 

"  Who  would  have  thought  of  seeing  roses  in  full  bloom 
at  this  time  of  year ! "  said  Max,  glancing  at  the  lovely  little 
churchyard  of  Cambo,  which  they  were  just  approaching. 
"  Let  us  get  down  here  and  rest  the  horses." 

Miriam  willingly  assented,  and  wandered  off  to  look  at 
the  church ;  when  he  rejoined  her,  she  was  standing,  with 
her  face  turned  to  the  long  range  of  snowy  mountains,  and 
he  was  struck  by  the  softened  look  in  her  eyes. 

"Max,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him  with  a  smile  that 
was  half  sad,  "  you  are  the  best  friend  I  have  in  the  world. 
I  am  more  grateful  to  you  for  helping  me  in  this  trouble 
than  you  can  guess.  I  will  indeed  try  to  be  good  to  you, 
dear." 

Again  all  that  was  noble  and  chivalrous  in  his  nature 
revolted  at  the  thought  of  Miriam  being  sold  into  life-long 
bondage  to  such  a  man  as  Lord  Stoughton.  Something  in 
her  genuine  gratitude  touched  his  heart  and  made  him 
stoop  down  and  kiss  her  reverently. 

"  Don't  you  remember,"  said  Miriam,  with  one  of  her 
bright,  mischievous  glances,  "  how  old  Colonel  Dunbar  used 


DOREEN  431 

to  say  that  kissing  a  cousin  was  like  lamb  with  mint  sauce, 
and  kissing  a  sister  was  like  lamb  without  the  mint  sauce  ?  " 

Max  smiled,  and  the  two  rode  home  together  in  very- 
good  spirits  to  gladden  Lady  Rachel's  heart  by  the  news 
of  the  arrangement  that  had  been  made,  and  fairly  to  satisfy 
even  the  General,  who  mentally  reserved  to  himself  the 
right  to  tell  his  own  personal  friends  the  true  state  of  things 
whenever  it  appeared  to  him  convenient  to  do  so. 

That  evening,  about  half  way  through  table  cVhdte,  as  Max 
was  listening  courteously  to  the  remarkably  dull  conversa- 
tion of  a  deaf  old  admiral  who  sat  next  him,  he  was  sud- 
denly startled  by  hearing  from  the  opposite  side  of  the 
table  a  question  in  a  girl's  high,  clear  voice. 

"  Father,  did  you  see  the  news  about  Miss  O'Ryan,  Doreen 
O'Ryan,  you  know,  the  public  singer  whose  voice  you  always 
admire  so  much  ?  " 

"No;  what  about  her,  my  dear?"  said  the  gray-haired 
pater  familiaSy  putting  down  his  knife  and  fork  unwarily 
for  an  instant,  whereupon  the  waiter  instantly  whisked 
away  his  unfinished  entree. 

"  She  is  in  prison ;  'just  think ! " 

"Eh,  what?"  said  the  father,  in  astonishment;  then, 
suddenly  perceiving  that  he  had  been  defrauded  of  his 
food,  he  paused  to  grumble  in  an  aside  to  his  wife  that 
really  the  waiters  were  no  better  than  so  many  vultures 
watching  to  pounce  on  their  prey. 

Max,  meanwhile,  waited  with  a  numb  feeling  as  though 
some  one  had  laid  hold  of  his  heart. 

"She  was  arrested  in  Ireland,"  continued  the  girl,  "for 
having  helped  to  erect  one  of  the  huts  for  the  evicted 
tenants.     It  says  that  she  will  be  in  prison  three  months." 

"  Serves  her  right  for  being  mixed  up  with  that  abomina- 
ble, wicked  Land  League,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  severely. 
"A  set  of  thieves  and  murderers,  that's  what  they  are; 
and  I  can't  think  that  any  nice  girl  would  be  mixed  up 
with  such  a  crew." 

Max  felt  as  if  he  were  choking.     The  deaf  old  admiral 


432  DOREEN 

went  mumbling  on  with  his  interminable  stories  of  the  sea ; 
the  long  tables,  with  their  goodly  array  of  fruit  and  flowers, 
looked  ghastly  to  him  in  the  glare  of  the  gaslight  as  he  con- 
trasted them  in  his  mind  with  the  dimly  lighted  cell,  in 
which  Doreen  was  at  this  very  moment  immured.  Doreen 
in  prison !  Dorepn,  of  all  girls  in  the  world,  to  be  hemmed 
in  by  rules  and  regulations ;  to  be  shut  out  from  life  and 
sunshine,  and  condemned  to  solitude !  The  thought  was 
intolerable,  and  the  harsh  words  of  her  English  censor 
opposite  roused  within  him  a  feeling  of  strong  indignation. 

"This  room  is  intolerable,"  he  said  hastily  to  Miriam, 
who  was  sitting  at  his  right  hand;  "I  can't  bear  it  any 
longer ;  the  heat  is  suffocating  me." 

He  pushed  back  his  chair  and  made  for  the  door,  breathing 
more  freely  when  he  found  himself  alone  in  the  reading- 
room.  Eagerly  turning  over  the  foreign  papers,  he  found 
the  English  journal  he  sought,  and  with  a  pang  of  indescrib- 
able pain,  read  the  following  brief  lines,  under  the  large 
type  heading :  — 

"ARREST  OF   MISS   DOREEN  O'RYAN. 

"  Miss  O'Ryan,  the  well-known  singer,  was  arrested  yesterday 
afternoon,  and  sentenced  by  the  magistrate  to  three  months'  im- 
prisonment. She  is  a  member  of  the  Ladies'  Land  League,  and  a 
daughter  of  the  late  Mr.  Patrick  O'Ryan,  formerly  a  member  of  the 
Irish  Bar,  but  debarred  on  account  of  the  part  he  took  in  the  rising  of 
1818,  and  later  on,  undergoing  five  years'  penal  servitude  as  a  Fenian. 
The  news  of  the  arrest  caused  great  excitement  and  indignation,  owing 
to  the  singer's  popularity.  It  appears  that  Miss  O'Ryan,  after  her 
day's  work  on  Monday  at  the  office  in  Upper  Sackville  Street,  was 
deputed  to  travel  down  by  the  night  train  to  the  South,  with  aid  for 
some  of  the  tenants  on  Mr.  Haman's  estate.  It  is  said  that  in  order 
to  get  in  front  of  the  sub-sheriff  and  warn  the  people,  she  was  carried 
across  a  river,  so  that  when  the  evicting  party  arrived  they  found  the 
houses  barricaded.  Resistance  was  useless,  however,  and,  in  spite  of 
Miss  O'Ryan' s  entreaties,  the  evictions  took  place,  and  the  houses  were 
levelled  with  the  ground.  An  old  woman  was  carried  out  in  a  dying 
state,  and  immediately  received  the  last  Sacraments  ;  the  whole  scene 
being  extremely  painful,  and  greatly  aggravated  by  the  rain  and  the 


DOREEN-  433 

cold.  Miss  O'Ryan  had  just  succeeded  in  getting  one  of  the  Land 
League  huts  erected  to  shelter  the  two  large  families  which  had  been 
rendered  homeless,  when  she  was  arrested.  The  news  spread  rapidly, 
and  a  small  crowd  awaited  the  eminent  vocalist  here,  as  the  train 
entered  the  station.  She  appeared  pale  and  exhausted,  but  smilingly 
acknowledged  the  vociferous  cheers  with  which  she  was  greeted  on  her 
way  to  the  cab.  As  the  vehicle  drove  off  to  the  female  prison  in  the 
suburbs,  the  people  sang  with  great  enthusiasm,  'God  save  Ireland,' 
until  they  were  dispersed  by  the  police." 


Max  let  the  paper  drop,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands, 
fighting  against  the  horrible  pain  that  proved  clearly  enough 
how  false  had  been  his  notion  that  he  had  no  longer  any 
heart  left.  It  was  not  so  much  of  Doreen,  as  she  had  been 
during  their  last  interview  in  Bernard  Street,  that  he 
thought;  it  was  the  little  Doreen  of  long  ago  that  refused  to 
be  banished  from  his  mind.  Once  again  he  heard  the  sweet 
voice  chanting  "  God  save  Ireland,''  as  they  climbed  Kil- 
rourk.  Once  again  he  saw  the  funny  little  figure  "  heavily 
ironed,"  on  the  back  of  the  sofa,  and  boldly  exclaiming 
"  God  save  Ireland ! "  in  spite  of  the  threatening  aspect  of 
the  dragoon  with  the  sixpenny  sword. 

Doreen  was  in  prison  for  three  months,  while  he,  in  this 
paradise  of  rest  and  loveliness,  was  leading  a  life  of  luxuri- 
ous ease,  troubling  himself  not  at  all  about  anything  in  the 
world  but  his  own  satisfaction.  He  felt  a  sort  of  loathing 
of  himself,  and  yet  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  chained 
hand  and  foot,  irrevocably  bound  to  this  aimless  existence, 
and  that  to  free  himself  and  plunge  back  once  more  into 
the  working  world  was  an  effort  altogether  beyond  him. 
As  for  Doreen,  how  could  he  help  her  ?  They  had  agreed 
to  part,  and  she  had  been  false  to  him,  horribly  false  — 
why  should  he  grieve  for  her  ?  However  admirable  her 
devotion  to  Ireland,  she  had  betrayed  him,  and  it  was  no 
thanks  to  her,  he  imagined,  that  he  was  not,  at  this  moment, 
in  Kilmainham.  He  had,  of  course,  no  notion  of  the  truth 
that  it  was  to  Doreen's  intervention  that  he  owed  his  free- 
dom and  the  preservation  of  his  name  from  public  talk,  as 


434  DOREEN 

one  who  had,  for  years,  known  the  truth  about  the  Lough 
Lee  tragedy. 

But,  mercifully  for  him,  the  news  had  shaken  him  out  of 
his  false  dream  of  lazy  peace  and  indifference.  It  had 
wakened  him  to  cruel  pain,  and  a  battle  had  begun  within 
him,  between  good  and  evil,  which  was  destined  to  prove 
the  crisis  of  his  whole  life. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

"Come  to  me,  dear,  ere  I  die  of  my  sorrow; 
Rise  on  my  gloom,  like  the  sun  of  to-morrow ; 
Strong,  swift,  and  fond  as  the  words  that  I  speak.  Love, 
With  a  song  on  your  lips  and  a  rose  on  your  cheek.  Love  ! 
Come,  for  my  heart  in  your  absence  is  weary  ! 
Come,  for  my  spirit  is  sickened  and  dreary  ! 
Come  to  the  arms  which  alone  should  caress  you. 
Come  to  the  heart  that  is  throbbing  to  press  you.'* 

Joseph  Brennan. 

That  same  account  of  the  arrest  had  made  its  way  into 
the  Bernard  Street  household  in  a  somewhat  curious  fashion. 
Aunt  Garth  and  the  two  elder  boys  were  not  expected  home 
till  eight  that  evening,  and  Mollie  having  been  put  to  bed 
rather  earlier  than  usual,  that  Mrs.  Muchmore  might  go  to 
a  service,  lay  crooning  a  little  Irish  lullaby  to  her  doll, 
when  suddenly  the  ringing  voice  of  a  newspaper  boy  made 
the  quiet  street  resound,  and  caused  the  child  to  start  up 
that  she  might  hear  what  was  the  thrilling  intelligence 
that  came  after  the  words  —  "  special  edition  ! " 

"  It  sounds  like  our  name,"  thought  Mollie,  with  a  thrill 
of  pride ;  for  she  had  a  child's  notion  that  to  "  be  in  the 
newspapers  "  was  a  great  distinction.  She  sprang  up  and 
ran  to  the  window  that  she  might  hear  better ;  surely  it 
was  — "  address  of  Miss  O'Ryan."  Had  Doreen,  then, 
taken  to  public  speaking?  She  listened  more  intently  as 
the  boy  approached,  and  now  quite  clearly  the  horrible 
truth  broke  upon  her  j  the  word  was  "  arrest,"  and  Mollie, 

435  DD  2 


436  DOREEN- 

young  as  she  was,  had  heard  of  too  many  arrests  not  to 
understand  precisely  what  that  word  involved.  With  a  cry 
of  dismay  that  might  have  touched  the  heart  of  the  most 
inveterate  hater  of  the  Home-Rule  agitation,  she  rushed 
downstairs,  not  pausing  for  an  instant  to  reflect  that  the 
oilcloth  in  the  hall  was  freezing  to  her  little  bare  feet,  that 
the  doormat  was  prickly,  or  that  the  cold  wind  seemed  to 
blow  through  and  through  her  as  she  flung  open  the  front 
door  just  as  the  newsboy  was  passing.  His  mouth  was 
rounding  itself  for  a  stentorian  bellow  when  Mollie's  clear 
voice  rang  out  imperiously.     ^' Paper ! "  she  called. 

"Which '11  yer  'ev,  miss?"  said  the  boy,  staring  at  the 
funny  little  apparition,  with  its  dishevelled  locks  and  wind- 
blown nightdress." 

"Both,"  said  Mollie,  promptly,  with  a  laudable  desire  to 
be  impartial  and  to  hear  what  was  said  by  each  side. 
Then,  as  the  boy  demanded  twopence,  Mollie,  having  ab- 
sently felt  for  a  pocket  which  didn't  exist  in  her  night- 
gown, was  forced  to  fly  for  help  to  Uncle  Garth,  and  to  his 
immense  astonishment  came  running  into  his  study  with  a 
breathless  request. 

"Please,  uncle,  lend  me  twopence  for  a  boy  at  the 
door,  'cause  he's  in  a  hurry,  and  there's  no  pocket  in  my 
nightgown.  I  mean  my  purse  is  upstairs  in  my  frock 
pocket." 

"My  dear,"  said  Uncle  Garth,  his  mild,  dreamy  eyes 
opening  wider  than  usual,  "  what  are  you  doing  down  here 
at  this  time  of  night  ?  and  you  mustn't  give  money  to  beg- 
gars at  the  door  with  only  your  night-shirt  —  I  should  say 
your  nightgown  —  on." 

"  'Tisn't  a  beggar,"  said  Mollie ;  "  he's  a  newspaper  boy, 
and  he's  calling  out  that  Doreen's  arrested." 

Here  she  sank  down  in  a  little  heap  on  the  floor  and 
wailed. 

"What!"  cried  Uncle  Garth,  stooping  to  pick  up  the 
newspapers. 

But  Mollie,  though  "  impecunious,"  was  honest. 


DOREEN'  437 

"There's  twopence  to  pay  first,"  she  sobbed,  holding  on 
valiantly  to  the  "Pall  Mall  Gazette." 

Uncle  Garth  hurried  out  to  the  front  door  and  paid  the 
boy;  then,  with  an  air  of  deep  concern,  he  returned  to  his 
study  and  very  gently  picked  up  the  little  crying  child. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  mopping  her  eyes  assiduously  with 
his  red  silk  handkerchief,  "  pray  don't  cry  so ;  these  boys  as 
often  as  not  call  out  lies  just  to  sell  their  papers.  Let  me 
look  and  see." 

MoUie  relinquished  both  journals  and  smiled  through  her 
tears. 

"  Oh,  I  do  hope  he  was  lying ! "  she  said  fervently. 

But  her  heart  sank  as  she  watched  Uncle  Garth's  face 
while  he  read.  The  boy  had  evidently  been  telling  the 
truth. 

Uncle  Garth  made  inarticulate  exclamations  of  annoyance 
and  regret.  Mollie  caught  the  words  :  "  She's  infatuated ! 
There's  no  help  for  it.  Treading  in  her  father's  steps,  and 
after  all,  it's  natural  enough ! " 

The  child  buried  her  face  in  Uncle  Garth's  coat  and  cried 
bitterly. 

"  There,  there,"  he  said,  kissing  her ;  "  don't  cry,  my  pet ; 
they  will  not  keep  her  long  in  prison,  you  may  be  sure  of 
that." 

"How  long?"  sobbed  Mollie.  Then  as  she  heard  the 
length  of  the  sentence:  "Three  months!  three  whole 
months!  Why,  that'll  be  after  Easter.  What  did  they 
send  her  to  prison  for  ?  " 

"  For  putting  up  a  hut  for  some  people  who  were  turned 
out  of  their  own  home,"  said  Uncle  Garth. 

"Then,"  said  Mollie,  "if  it  was  for  doing  a  kind,  good 
thing  like  that,  of  course  God  will  send  one  of  His  angels 
to  her.  He  always  does,  you  know,  to  the  people  who  do 
right  and  are  put  in  prison." 

Uncle  Garth  did  not  contest  the  point,  or  attempt  to 
prove  to  the  little  child  that  building  Land  League  huts 
was  "intimidation."     Instead,  he  drew  closer  to  the  fire  and 


43^  DOREEN- 

held  the  little  bare  feet  to  warm,  and  began  to  tell  her  of 
the  Egyptian  doll  which  had  been  found  after  being  buried 
for  hundreds  of  years  in  a  child's  coffin,  and  of  corn  that 
had  been  found  in  a  mummy's  hand  and  had  been  planted 
here  in  England  ages  after,  and  had  sprung  up  and  brought 
forth  fruit. 

When,  later  on,  Aunt  Garth  and  the  boys  returned  grave 
and  sorrowful, — for  they,  too,  had  heard  the  news, — they 
found  Uncle  G-arth  still  chatting  away,  with  the  child  on  his 
knee,  though  Mollie  had  blissfully  fallen  asleep  to  the  sound 
of  his  soothing  voice.  Michael,  glad  to  escape  from  discus- 
sion of  the  bad  news,  took  her  in  his  arms  and  carried  her 
gently  upstairs,  abjectly  miserable  when  he  thought  of  his 
helplessness  to  serve  Doreen,  yet  proud,  too,  to  think  that 
she  should  be  among  those  who  were  suffering  for  love  of 
Ireland. 

Mollie's  love,  which  was  always  of  a  practical  nature, 
prompted  her  the  next  day  to  spend  the  whole  of  her  play- 
time over  a  carefully  written  and  curiously  spelt  letter, 
which  ran  as  follows :  — 

"  Darling  Doreen  :  Bride  and  me  mean  to  be  very  ekstrar  good 
to  please  you  till  you  come  back.  We  keep  praying  that  God  will 
send  an  angel  to  open  the  prison  doors  like  St.  Peter's  angel  did,  and 
Daniel's  that  shut  the  beasts'  mouths.  Dermot  calls  the  majistrit  a 
beast  and  so  did  we  till  Hagar  said  she  must  soap  our  mouths  if  we 
kept  saying  beast  because  it  was  a  bad  word  for  girls  and  that  you 
never  said  it.  So  now  we  only  think  the  majistrit  was  a  —  you  know 
what,  because  as  we  are  to  be  ekstrar  good  it  will  not  do  for  us  to  get 
our  mouths  soaped,  and  besides  we  hate  the  taste  of  the  soap.  So  if 
you  wake  up  one  night  and  see  a  angel  you  won't  be  fritened  will  you, 
but  you'll  say  '  Oh  that's  just  the  angel  Mollie  and  Bride  asked  for.' 
Hagar  says  Paul  was  set  free  from  prison  by  an  earthquack,  she 
means  St.  Paul  not  the  Paul  that  sells  roses,  you  know.  So  perhaps 
it  may  be  an  earthquack  to  set  you  free,  but  we  shall  spesh'lly  ask  for 
an  angel  because  Bride  and  me  think  earthquacks  must  be  rather 
dredful.  Auntie  reads  us  Mr.  O'Sullivan's  'Story  of  Ireland,'  she 
says  it  remines  her  of  '  Tails  of  a  Granf ather '  only  that  was  Scotch 
Histry  and  this  is  Irish  histry.  She  thinks  Donal  O' Sullivan  a  grand 
caracter,  we  are  reading  the  part  ware  they  crossed  Ireland  and  they 


DOREEN^  430 

had  to  eat  their  horses  and  use  the  skins  for  boats,  ugh  !  Ilagar  says 
1  must  write  very  caretly  because  the  prison  orthoruties  will  read  the 
letter,  I  hope  theyll  be  able  to  all  right,  ive  wrote  it  as  well  as  I  could 
and  these  are  for  kisses  x    x    x    x 

"  From  your  loving  sister, 

"MoLLiE  O'Ryan. 

"  P.  S.    The  kisses  of  course  are  for  you  not  for  the  orthoruties." 


MoUie  and  Bride  had  many  secret  confabulations  about 
this  time,  Bride  generally  playing  the  part  of  sympathetic 
listener,  and  Mollie's  fertile  brain  and  ready  tongue  doing 
the  work. 

"  I've  been  thinking,"  said  Mollie,  as  one  spring  day  they 
sat  together  on  the  top  of  the  toy-box  in  the  nursery  win- 
dow, "  I've  been  thinking,  Bride,  that  while  we're  waiting 
for  the  angel  to  set  Doreen  free,  we  might  just  as  well  be 
asking,  too,  that  Max  may  come  back  and  that  everything 
may  come  right  again.  There's  no  harm  in  asking,  you  see. 
And  Doreen  has  never  looked  quite  the  same  since  the  day 
Max  gave  up  coming  here.  I  remember  it  was  the  day  we 
went  to  see  Signor  Donati's  baby,  and  picked  the  flowers  in 
his  garden.     Doreen  has  looked  kinder  sad  ever  since  then." 

"I  love  Max,"  said  Bride;  "I  wish  he  would  come  back." 

"  Well,  we'll  ask  God  to  send  him,"  said  Mollie.  "  And 
I  tell  you  what.  Bride,  we'll  buy  him  a  Easter  card ;  there's 
a  lov^y  one  in  Southampton  Row,  with  four  angels  on  it, 
and  something  underneath  about  ^Seek  things  that  are 
above.'  It's  awfully  dear  —  it  was  marked  sixpence.  But 
I  have  got  a  sixpence,  and  if  you  would  spend  your  penny 
on  the  stamp,  we  could  get  it  to  him." 

"  But,  then,  we  shan't  have  nothing  to  get  one  for  Doreen," 
said  Bride.    "  What  a  bover  it  is  we've  not  got  more  pennies  ! " 

Mollie  was  silent;  a  look  of  profound  meditation  stole  into 
her  blue  eyes.  "Don't  speak  to  me,"  she  said,  pressing  both 
hands  over  her  head  and  staring  hard  at  the  black  brick 
house  opposite,  as  though  for  inspiration.  "I  can  kinder 
see  a  thought,  but  it  won't  let  me  catch  hold  of  it.     Wait, 


440  DOREEN' 

wait!  ISTow  IVe  got  it.  You  see,  Bride,  as  only  one  of 
them  can  have  the  card,  and  as  Doreen  loves  Max,  she'd 
much  rather  he  had  it." 

"  We  could  send  them  each  a  thrip'ny  one,"  said  Bride, 
astutely. 

"  No ;  but  don't  you  see  that  she'd  rather  go  without,  if 
it  meant  something  beautifuUer  for  him  ?  Doreen  does  so 
love  people,  and  she  always  wants  to  be  giving.  And  you 
know,  Bride,  the  thrip'ny  ones  are  not  a  bit  nice ;  they're 
just  crosses  of  flowers  instead  of  four  lovely  angels." 

"  The  angels  was  very  pretty,"  said  Bride.  "  I  think  they 
was  doing  the  ladies'  chain  in  the  quadrille." 

"Oh  no.  Bride,  no;  angels  don't  dance;  they  can  fly,  you 
know,  which  must  be  something  like  skating  in  the  air,  I 
should  think,  or  swimming  very  fast  in  water  that  doesn't 
wet  you.  The  worst  of  it  is,  Hagar  will  never  let  us  walk 
to  Southampton  Eow  alone ;  we  shall  have  to  ask  her  to  stay 
outside  the  shop,  because  we've  a  nice  secret,  —  a  very 
spesh'ly  nice  secret." 

The  "  spesh'ly  nice  secret "  arrived  at  Biarritz  on  Easter 
Eve ;  for  the  children  had  prudently  posted  it  to  Monkton 
Verney  early  in  Holy  Week,  and  the  housekeeper,  touched 
by  the  childish  "  Please  forward  direkly,"  had  given  it  a 
place  in  the  packet  which  was  being  sent  to  her  master. 
Max,  who  detested  letters,  groaned  inwardly  as  he  opened 
the  bulky  package  from  Monkton  Verney,  nor  did  the  news 
he  received  tend  to  raise  his  spirits.  There  was  a  long 
letter  from  the  Firdale  Liberal  Committee,  informing  him 
of  the  sudden  death  of  the  member,  Mr.  John  Steele,  and 
asking  him  to  telegraph  an  immediate  reply  if  he  were  will- 
ing to  stand  once  more  for  Firdale. 

To  go  through  all  the  drudgery  of  an  election  campaign, 
with  very  probable  defeat  staring  him  in  the  face,  was  a  dis- 
mal prospect,  and  then  he  realized  how  the  Herefords  would 
discourage  the  idea,  how  utterly  unsympathetic  Miriam 
would  be,  and  how  horribly  he  would  feel  the  loss  of  his 
mother's  presence  and  active  interest.     He  could  not  and 


DOREEN  441 

would  not  endure  it  all.  He  would  remain  abroad;  he  would 
take  his  ease  ;  he  would  shut  out  from  his  mind  all  the  work 
for  which  he  no  longer  felt  any  zest.  Musing  thus,  he 
turned  over  his  remaining  letters,  smiling  a  little  at  the 
childish  writing  on  the  largest  of  the  envelopes,  and  touched 
more  than  he  would  have  cared  to  own  by  the  elaborate 
angel  card  and  the  laboured  inscription  on  the  back,  "  With 
love  from  Mollie  and  Bride." 

"  Those  dear  little  souls !  do  they  still  care  for  me  ?  " 
he  thought  to  himself,  realizing  that  the  card  must  have 
exhausted  their  exchequer.  And  then,  Bride's  "  dancing 
angels  "  somehow  carried  his  thoughts  back  to  a  silent  room 
in  the  Shelbourne,  and  to  a  lesson  he  had  learnt  there,  but 
had  of  late  forgotten. 

"I  must  go  out  and  get  them  some  Easter  eggs,"  he 
thought  to  himself,  and  sauntered  into  the  town,  taking 
some  pleasure  in  selecting  for  his  two  little  friends  the 
most  fascinating  presents  that  Biarritz  would  produce. 
Then,  having  posted  them,  he  wandered  on  towards  the  sea, 
and  found  his  way  out  to  the  Virgin  rock,  a  desolate  prom- 
ontory reached  by  a  little  shaky  wooden  pier,  and  sur- 
mounted by  a  roughly  hewn  image  of  the  Virgin  Mary.  He 
had  suffered  much  during  those  long  weeks  which  had  elapsed 
since  the  day  he  heard  of  Doreen's  arrest.  Ever  since  then 
he  had  been  fighting  a  desperate  inward  battle,  sometimes 
gaining,  sometimes  losing;  and,  as  he  sought  a  sheltered 
nook  among  the  brown  rocks,  and  sat  watching  the  great 
Atlantic  rollers  as  they  surged  by,  he  knew  that  the  time 
had  come  for  the  final  struggle.  He  must  decide  at  once, 
whether  he  would  take  the  unwelcome  plunge  into  the 
stormy  arena  of  political  life,  or  remain  at  Biarritz  in  self- 
indulgent  leisure  and  tranquillity.  Watching  the  sea,  he 
naturally  enough  fell  to  thinking  of  Doreen.  She  was  not 
often  out  of  his  thoughts  at  this  time,  and  now,  as  he 
reflected  how  the  same  vast  Atlantic  washed  the  shores  of 
the  very  place  where  she  was  imprisoned,  her  influence  ovt-r 
him  was  strong.     In  the  dashing  of  the  waves  on  the  rocks 


442  DOREEN 

below,  he  seemed  to  hear  her  well-known  voice  singing  the 
refrain  of  Ellen  O'Leary's  song  :  — 

"  To  each  —  to  all  —  I'm  ever  true, 
To  God  —  to  Ireland  —  and  to  you.'* 

Had  he  not  promised  ages  before  to  speak  for  Ireland  ? 
And  was  he  in  cowardly  fear  to  abandon  the  work  to  which 
he  had  pledged  himself,  because  it  was  likely  to  win  him 
the  world's  disapproval?  Because,  forsooth,  Ireland  was 
out  of  favour  and  unfashionable  ? 

Again  he  listened  to  the  surging  of  the  waves,  and  again 
Doreen's  voice  seemed  to  ring  through  his  heart :  — 

"And,  oh,  my  darling,  I  am  true, 
To  God  —  to  Ireland  —  and  to  you  !  " 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  fearing  even  a  moment's  delay,  and 
promptly  made  his  way  back  to  the  town,  where  he  de- 
spatched a  telegram  consenting  to  stand  again  for  Firdale, 
and  announcing  his  immediate  return  to  England. 

"  I  will  take  you  at  your  word,"  he  said  to  Miriam,  when 
he  was  telling  her  of  the  summons  he  had  received ;  "  all 
these  Eadical  doings  shall  not  bore  you ;  I  will  keep  them 
decently  in  the  background,  and  not  enlist  your  services  in 
the  electioneering  campaign." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Miriam,  good-naturedly,  "  and  if  you 
really  want  to  succeed,  why,  I  wish  you  well.  After  all, 
there  are  some  conveniences  in  your  being  in  Parliament, 
even  if  you  are  on  the  wrong  side.  You  will  be  able  to  get 
all  our  friends  orders  for  the  ladies'  gallery.  And  tea  on 
the  terrace  is  rather  fun." 

Max  spent  his  Easter  on  the  railroad,  and  arriving  in 
England,  went  straight  down  to  address  a  meeting  of  the 
Eirdale  electors.  He  spoke  with  studied  moderation,  but 
did  not  escape  a  certain  amount  of  "  heckling  "  with  regard 
to  his  brief  stay  in  Kilmainham.  Still,  his  old  popularity 
stood  him  in  good  stead,  and  the  knowledge  that  the  con- 


DOREEN  443 

test  would  be  a  severe  one  proved  stimulating  when  he  was 
actually  at  work.  Firdale  was  also  a  little  prejudiced  in 
his  favour  by  the  touch  of  pathos  in  his  solitariness.  There 
was  no  cheerful  house  party  this  time ;  for  Monkton  Ver- 
ney  was  in  the  hands  of  strangers.  There  was  no  sweet- 
faced  Mrs.  Hereford  driving  about  the  Firdale  streets ;  she 
had  long  since  been  called  away.  There  was  no  bright 
Irish  singer  to  draw  big  audiences  and  to  cheer  and  inspirit 
the  electors ;  she,  report  said,  had  jilted  the  young  squire, 
probably  for  the  sake  of  some  worthless  compatriot. 

All  this  told  in  his  favour;  and  when  the  poll  was  de- 
clared, it  proved  that  the  Liberals  had  a  majority  of  fifty- 
six,  upon  which  there  was  of  course  great  jubilation ;  and 
Max,  in  a  dream-like  way,  did  all  that  was  expected  of  him, 
shook  hands  with  the  defeated  candidate,  stepped  on  to  the 
balcony,  said  the  few  manly  and  modest  words  that  he 
ought  to  have  said,  and  was  loudly  cheered  by  the  crowd. 
But  all  the  time  he  felt  a  miserable  aching  void  which 
utterly  marred  his  triumph.  Everywhere  he  saw  the  lov- 
ing blue  eyes  that  had  looked  into  his  so  tenderly  on  the 
day  of  his  defeat ;  through  all  the  cheers  of  the  crowd  he 
heard  Doreen's  response  to  his  question  whether  next  time 
he  should  have  her  help,  "  Why  of  course ;  you  will  always 
have  it  when  you  want  it." 

That  afternoon  he  walked  out  quite  alone  to  Monkton 
Verney,  longing  to  get  away  from  Firdale,  longing  for  peace 
and  quiet.  Taking  a  short  cut  across  the  park,  he  chanced 
to  come  across  old  Goody,  who  had  already  heard  of  his 
triumph  and  was  full  of  congratulations.  "And  oh,  sir," 
she  added,  "I'm  main  glad  the  ghost's  laid.  Have  they 
told  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  that's  good  hearing,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  The 
house  will  let  far  more  easily  if  that  idle  tale  is  knocked  on 
the  head." 

"  Well,  sir,  it  was  Miss  O'Ryan ;  she  wrote  and  told  me 
just  what  it  was,  and  we've  all  seen  it  now ;  but  she  was  the 
one  that  was  bold  enough  to  walk  right  up  to  it,  and  till 


444  DOREEN 

she  touched  the  bare  wall  with  her  own  hand  she  thought 
it  was  his  lordship." 

"  When  was  Miss  O'Kyan  here  ? "  asked  Max,  with  a 
curious  twinge  of  pain  at  his  heart.  And  Goody,  nothing 
loath,  gave  him  a  graphic  description  of  the  visit  early  in 
January,  and  took  great  delight  in  showing  him  the  gar- 
goyle which  had  so  long  been  terrifying  the  people  by  its 
life-like  shadow.  Max,  when  he  had  taken  leave  of  the  old 
crone,  wandered  on  to  the  churchyard,  thinking  over  the 
story  he  had  just  heard. 

"My  brave  Doreen ! "  he  said  to  himself,  "that  was  exactly 
like  you ;  your  heart  throbbed  and  your  knees  trembled,  but 
you  walked  straight  up  to  the  ghost  and  laid  hold  of  it." 

The  wind  sighed  drearily  through  the  churchyard  trees 
and  seemed  again  to  repeat  those  haunting  words,  —  "  You 
will  always  have  it  when  you  want  it."  He  went  and 
stood  for  a  moment,  with  bared  head,  beside  his  mother's 
grave.  There  was  the  wreath  of  which  Goody  had  spoken, 
the  offering  of  lovely  white  flowers  which  Doreen  had 
specially  brought  over  from  Guildford  on  his  mother's 
birthday.  He  himself  had  forgotten  the  day  altogether. 
It  is  only  women  who  remember  those  little  delicate 
touches  which  sometimes,  by  their  very  fineness,  do  more 
to  brighten  and  console  than  far  more  solid  bits  of  work. 
She  had  somehow  found  time  for  thought  in  the  midst  of 
her  busy  life,  and  he  in  his  wealth  of  leisure  had  forgotten. 

"Beg  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  old  sexton,  hobbling  up  as 
Max  turned  away  from  the  grave.  "Shall  I  tidy  up  the 
turfs  a  bit,  and  throw  away  that  there  dead  wreath  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Max,  glancing  at  the  brown  and  shrivelled 
remains ;  "leave  all  just  as  it  is." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  o'  your  success,  sir,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  and  I  hope  I  see  you  better." 

"  Thank  you,  Brown.  Yes ;  I  am  quite  well.  Good 
day."  And  in  no  mood  to  bear  another  word.  Max  left 
the  churchyard,  abd  walked  drearily  back  to  Firdale,  with- 
out daring  to  glance  at  his  old  home  or  at  Rooksbury. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

"But  its  bitter  taunt  repeating, 

Cried  the  harsh  Voice :  '  Where  are  they  — 
All  the  friends  of  former  hours, 

Who  forget  your  name  to-day  ? 
All  the  links  of  love  are  shattered, 

Which  you  thought  so  strong  before  ; 
And  your  very  heart  is  lonely, 

And  alone  since  loved  no  more.' 
******* 
** '  Nay '  ;  and  then  the  gentle  answer 

Rose  more  loud,  and  full,  and  clear; 
*  For  the  sake  of  all  my  brethren 

I  thank  God  that  I  am  here  ; 
Poor  had  been  my  life's  best  efforts, 

Now  I  waste  no  thought  or  breath  — 
For  the  prayer  of  those  who  suffer 

Has  the  strength  of  Love  and  Death.'  " 

A.  A.  Procter,  The  Tyrant  and  the  Captive. 

It  was  quite  late  in  the  evening  wlien  Doreen  arrived  at 
the  prison.  She  looked  up  at  the  high,  blank  walls  and  at 
the  grim,  gray,  battlemented  entrance,  and  shuddered  a 
little.  In  this  prison,  long  ago,  her  father  had  once  spent 
four  or  five  months  at  the  time  of  the  Smith  O'Brien  rising. 
She  remembered  vividly  his  description,  in  after  years,  of 
the  way  in  which  the  bed  he  had  been  allowed  to  hire  had 
rotted  away  from  the  damp  of  his  cell.  It  was  here  that 
he  had  first  developed  that  delicacy  of  chest  which  had 
ultimately  caused  his  death,  and  which  had,  she  feared,  been 
inherited,  more  or  less,  by  all  his  children.     Within  those 

445 


446  DOREEN 

walls,  moreover,  she  remembered  to  have  heard  that  in  the 
famine  years  hundreds  of  prisoners  had  died  in  one  week. 

No  doubt  a  very  different  state  of  things  now  prevailed, 
but  the  associations  of  the  place  still  seemed  to  haunt  it. 
It  had  lately  been  converted  into  a  female  prison,  and 
Doreen  inquired  eagerly  whether  any  other  political  pris- 
oners were  there.  The  matron  who  received  her  replied  in 
the  negative ;  and  Doreen  sighed  a  little,  knowing  that  this 
meant  that  she  was  condemned  to  absolute  solitude. 

"  Never  mind,"  she  thought  to  herself.  "  If  all  I  can  do 
here  is  to  suffer,  I  must  try  to  suffer  well." 

This  thought  helped  her  to  endure  all  the  petty  discom- 
forts of  her  first  initiation  into  the  rules  and  regulations 
of  the  place,  and  before  long  she  found  herself  alone  for 
the  night,  a  very  taciturn  female  warder  having  brought 
her  a  cup  of  tepid  tea  and  some  food. 

"  They'll  not  keep  you  to  the  prison  fare,"  observed  her 
attendant,  giving  her  a  long,  searching  look.  "Food  will 
be  specially  ordered  in  for  you  to-morrow.  The  gas  will  be 
turned  off  in  twenty  minutes." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Doreen.     "  Good  night." 

To  this  remark  the  warder  made  no  response;  it  was 
an  attention  to  which  she  was  not  accustomed ;  but  just  as 
she  was  leaving  the  cell,  she  remarked,  a  trifle  less  gruffly, 
"  I  think,  too,  you'll  have  the  right  to  order  in  bedding  " ; 
and  without  leaving  the  prisoner  an  instant  to  respond  to 
this  cheering  suggestion,  she  clanged  the  door  behind  her. 

Doreen  shivered.  She  had  often  heard  Donal  Moore  say 
how  that  sound  more  than  any  other  affects  a  prisoner ;  but 
she  tried  to  smile,  and,  as  she  drank  the  tepid  tea  and  ate 
the  food  that  had  been  brought  for  her,  she  valiantly  forced 
herself  to  make  a  parody  on  "  Oh,  the  clang  of  the  wooden 
shoon."  It  was  not  a  very  successful  attempt.  She  became 
wofully  conscious  that  every  bone  in  her  body  was  aching, 
that  her  heart  felt  like  lead,  and  that  whether  she  liked  it  or 
not,  here,  in  this  tiny  room,  with  its  bare,  white  walls,  she 
must  remain  for  three  calendar  months.     It  was  bitterly 


DOREEN-  447 

cold,  too,  and  she  longed  as  she  had  never  longed  before  for 
a  fire:  it  was  quite  in  vain  that  she  crouched  beside  the 
hot  pipes  with  which  the  cell  was  provided.  For  when 
you  have  driven  many  miles  on  an  outside  car  in  pouring 
rain,  on  a  cold  winter's  day,  and  have  then,  in  your  wet 
clothes,  had  to  sit  for  some  time  in  a  draughty  railway 
carriage,  you  will  certainly  find  if,  into  the  bargain,  you 
have  been  thinly  clad,  over-tired,  and  underfed,  that  it  takes 
more  than  a  hot  pipe  to  warm  you.  When  the  gas  was 
suddenly  turned  off,  and  she  groped  her  way  across  the 
cell  to  the  most  unyielding  mattress  it  had  ever  been  her 
fate  to  lie  on,  a  sudden,  dreadful  craving  for  Mollie  and 
Bride  and  the  familiar  room  in  Bernard  Street,  with  the 
little  lamp  beneath  Max  Hereford's  cross,  came  over  her, 
and  she  burst  into  an  agony  of  tears. 

At  that  very  moment  the  warder  was  remarking  to  one 
of  her  companions,  "  It's  the  very  first  of  them  strong- 
minded  females  I've  set  eyes  on." 

"And  I  heard  the  police  as  brought  her  say  she  was  a 
rare  plucked  one,"  remarked  another  warder.  "He  said 
she  stood  up  as  bold  as  could  be  before  the  magistrate,  and 
quoted  the  Bible  against  him." 

"  Lawks ! "  said  the  other.  "  Is  there  anything  in  Scrip- 
ture to  suit  with  the  Land  League  ?  " 

Doreen  woke  at  least  a  dozen  times  during  the  night,  and 
always  to  the  same  horrible  realization  that  she  was  a  pris- 
oner. The  moon  was  full,  and  its  light  brought  out  into  sharp 
relief  the  scanty  furniture  of  the  cell  and  the  heavily  barred 
window.  She  wondered  much  what  Max  would  say  to  the 
news.  He  would  hear  about  it  at  Biarritz,  and  General 
Hereford  would  rejoice  to  think  that  his  nephew  had  no 
longer  any  connection  with  her.  Would  Max  feel  just  a 
little  sorry  for  her?  Would  he  defend  her  when  other 
people  said  harsh  things  ?  Would  he  once  more  be  stirred 
into  trying  to  serve  Ireland,  or  would  he  only  feel  thankful 
that  he  was  out  of  the  strife  in  the  sunny  south  ?  Would 
he  be  glad  to  think  that  they  no  longer  belonged  to  each 


448  DOREEN 

other  ?  But  at  that  intolerable  thought  she  once  more  broke 
down  and  sobbed  her  heart  out.  "  It  isn't  true !  He  is 
mine — I  am  his — whatever  happens!  His  though  I  can 
do  nothing  for  him  —  nothing  !  Oh,  Max !  Max !  Max ! 
Come  back  to  me  !     Come  back !  " 

But  her  brave  spirit  soon  rose  above  the  storm  of  emotion. 
"I  am  a  fool,"  she  said,  drying  her  eyes;  "God  has  not 
allowed  me  to  be  sent  here  without  some  good  purpose,  — 
perhaps,  after  all,  I  can  serve  Ireland  better  in  prison  than 
at  large.  And  I  shall  have  more  time  to  pray  than  ever  in 
my  life  before.  It's  a  lie  that  I  can  do  nothing  for  Max ; 
I  can  help  him  even  if  he  hates  me.  Oh,  my  God !  let  me 
help  him  !     I  ask  for  nothing  more  but  just  to  help  him  ! " 

And  so  the  three  months  began,  and  the  first  month  seemed 
like  a  year ;  for  it  was  long  before  Doreen  could  grow  accus- 
tomed to  the  deadly  monotony  that  contrasted  so  sharply 
with  her  ordinary  life.  For  two  hours  in  each  day  she  was 
allowed  to  walk  in  the  exercise  yard;  for  the  remaining 
twenty-two  hours  she  was  shut  up  in  the  dismal  little  cell, 
and  though  no  work  was  expected  of  her  and  she  had  noth- 
ing to  complain  of,  the  mere  imprisonment  was  terrible  to 
one  of  her  disposition.  The  Chief  Secretary  had  sent  special 
orders  that  she  was  to  be  allowed  to  see  visitors,  to  have 
books,  and  to  be  treated  with  every  consideration.  Doreen 
knew  that  he  would  fain  have  released  her,  but  that  his 
unflinching  determination  to  support  the  action  of  the  mag- 
istrates at  all  costs  forced  him  against  his  own  inclination 
to  refuse  to  interfere.  She  felt  genuinely  sorry  for  him; 
yet  it  perplexed  her  much  to  think  that  in  the  face  of  the 
utter  failure  of  his  policy  of  repression,  he  should  still  cher- 
ish the  idea  that  Ireland  could  be  coerced  into  order  and 
patience,  while  the  horrible  evils  were  still  unredressed. 

The  second  month,  however,  passed  much  more  quickly. 
She  had  recovered  from  the  severe  cold  which  had  followed 
on  the  fatigue  and  exposure  she  had  undergone  on  the  day 
of  her  arrest.  She  had  also  become  accustomed  to  the 
restrictions  and  annoyances  of   detention^  had  learned  to 


DOREEN'  449 

endure  the  thought  of  having  her  letters  read,  and  had  lost 
that  shrinking  dislike  to  being  cooped  up  with  some  partic- 
ularly repulsive-looking  criminals  when  she  attended  service 
in  the  chapel. 

'■'■  I  wish  I  could  do  something  for  them,"  she  said  one 
day,  when  two  of  her  father*s  old  friends,  members  of  the 
religious  order  of  the  Christian  Brothers,  were  visiting  her. 
"  Often  when  I  look  at  them  in  the  chapel  I  think  of  your 
cases  of  specimens  at  the  school,  showing  manufactures 
from  their  earliest  to  their  latest  stage;  most  of  the 
prisoners  seem  to  me  in  the  primary  stage,  and  there  is 
nothing  here,  absolutely  nothing,  to  help  them  on  to  the 
next.  It's  not  the  least  use  for  the  chaplains  to  preach  at 
them.  And  they  don't  try  indirect  means,  like  music. 
They  say  throughout  Ireland  no  music  is  as  yet  permitted 
in  prisons.  In  England  it  is  permitted,  and  has  been  found 
very  useful." 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  the  Chief  Secretary  about  it  ?  You 
say  you  know  him.  An  appeal  could  do  no  harm,"  said  the 
elder  of  her  visitors. 

"  I  have  a  very  good  mind  to  ask  him  if  I  may  not  sing 
to  the  other  prisoners  on  Easter  Day,"  said  Doreen.  "I 
was  as  hoarse  as  a  raven  all  last  month,  but  my  voice  is 
coming  back  again  now." 

The  Chief  Secretary  gave  a  ready  consent,  and  the 
prison  authorities,  who,  however  much  they  detested  the 
Land  League,  could  not  help  being  touched  by  Doreen's 
cheerful  and  uncomplaining  patience,  gladly  hailed  the 
daring  innovation. 

A  more  extraordinary  audience  she  had  never  sung  to ; 
but  there  was  something  almost  dreadful  in  the  way  in 
which  she  at  once  felt  that  she  had  riveted  their  attention, 
that  the  music  was  irresistibly  drawing  them  up  out  of 
their  miserable  memories  and  their  evil  thoughts.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  she  could  almost  see  them  passing  to  that  "next 
stage"  of  which  she  had  spoken  to  the  Christian  Brothers. 

She  sang  them  first,  "  Oh,  that  thou  hadst  hearkened  to 


450  DOREEN 

my  commandments,"  from  Sullivan's  "Prodigal  Son/'  and 
as  the  last  tender  repetitions  of  "Turn  ye,  turn  ye  — 
why  will  ye  die  ?  "  rang  through  the  place,  she  could  see 
that  tears  were  raining  down  the  faces  of  some  of  those 
very  women  whose  look  of  hardened  wickedness  had  at  first 
appalled  her.  Then  she  gave  them  "  I  know  that  my  Re- 
deemer liveth,"  and  "Come  unto  Him,"  from  the  "Messiah," 
ending  with  a  well-known  hymn  to  which  neither  of  the 
chaplains  objected.  The  experiment  had  been  such  an  evi- 
dent success  that  the  priest  and  the  clergyman  and  the 
matron  began  to  cherish  hopes  of  persuading  the  govern- 
ment to  supply  musical  instruments  for  the  chapels,  though 
they  were  well  aware  that  much  red  tape  would  have  to  be 
manipulated  before  such  an  outlay  would  be  agreed  to. 

During  that  Easter  week,  Doreen  received  another  of 
Mollie's  curiously  spelt,  but  very  comforting  letters.  It 
contained  a  graphic  description  of  the  arrival  of  the  pres- 
ents from  Biarritz. 

"We  are  keeping  some  of  the  chocklits  for  you,"  wrote 
the  child.  "As  Michael  thinks  the  orthoruties  wouldn't 
let  you  have  them  praps  now.  But  I  send  you  the  paper 
Max  sent  with  them,  and  hope  you'll  like  it  as  well  as  a 
card,  there  wasn't  enough  money  to  get  cards  for  both  of 
you,  and  we  sent  him  a  nice  one  insted.  Bride  says,  Hell 
Doreen  when  she  comes  home  I  shall  never  let  her  go  away 
again,  but  will  cling  round  her  neck,  and  my  clings  are  very 
firm.' " 

The  paper  inclosed  was  a  mere  line  hastily  scrawled  in 
pencil :  "  With  love  from  Max.  The  angels  have  reached 
me  safely  —  a  thousand  thanks."  On  the  whole,  Doreen 
thought  she  liked  it  as  well  as  an  Easter  card. " 

Slowly,  very  slowly,  the  April  days  passed  on.  Doreen 
supposed  it  was  the  relaxing  climate  and  the  mild  spring 
weather  that  made  her  feel  so  tired  and  languid.  Some- 
times it  was  all  she  could  do  to  keep  up  her  allotted  time  in 
the  exercise  yard,  but  she  struggled  on,  being  loath  to  return 
to  her  dreary  little  cell  before  it  was  absolutely  necessary. 


DOREEN  45! 

When  at  last  the  hour  of  her  release  approached,  excite- 
ment gave  her  for  tlie  time  a  fictitious  strength.  Her  face 
was  radiant  as  she  quitted  the  prison  and  joined  Donal 
Moore's  wife,  who  had  come  to  the  south  on  purpose  to 
meet  her.  Her  fellow-workers  would  fain  have  kept  her  in 
Ireland,  but  there  were  engagements  in  London  which  she 
was  bound  to  keep ;  and,  moreover,  her  whole  heart  was  cry- 
ing out  for  the  children,  and  she  could  only  be  persuaded  to 
spend  the  night  in  the  Moores'  house,  crossing  by  the  morn- 
ing boat,  and  arriving  in  London  that  evening  at  a  quarter 
to  six.  Michael  and  Dermot  awaited  her  on  the  platform, 
and  their  eager  delight  at  getting  her  back  once  more,  their 
vociferous  greetings,  their  intense  excitement,  made  her 
forget  all  her  fatigue. 

"  It  is  worth  while  going  to  prison  only  for  the  sake  of 
coming  home  again,"  she  said,  laughing.  "  And  look !  look  ! 
there  are  my  darlings  on  the  balcony.  I  only  hope  they 
won't  shake  the  thing  down ;  it  looks  more  than  a  hundred 
years  old." 

She  sprang  out  of  the  cab  and  hastened  into  the  house, 
where  Mollie  and  Bride  came  flying  downstairs  to  cling 
round  her  neck  with  the  eager,  child-like  love  which  her 
heart  had  been  aching  for  all  those  weary  months.  And 
then  came  Aunt  Garth's  tender  and  rather  tremulous  em- 
brace, and  Uncle  Garth's  kindly  welcome,  with  no  allusion 
at  all  to  her  "  wrong-headed  adoption  of  Nationalist  views," 
but  a  genuine  gleam  of  relief  and  pleasure  in  his  quiet 
eyes,  as  he  realized  that  the  sunshine  had  returned  to  his 
house.  Last  of  all,  there  was  Hagar  Muchmore's  warm 
reception  in  the  snug  little  nursery. 

"  Guess  a  cup  o'  tea  and  a  bit  o'  hot  buttered  toast  will 
hearten  you  up  after  your  journey,"  she  said,  having  uncere- 
moniously kissed  her  mistress.  "  Give  me  your  hat  and 
jacket,  and  just  you  sit  down  and  rest.  Why,  for  the  land's 
sake  !  what  have  they  been  doing  to  you  in  prison  ?  " 

"  They  certainly  didn't  starve  me,"  said  Doreen,  laughing. 
"I  was  very  well  treated  ;  there  was  a  great  deal  more  sent 

££2 


452  DOREEN 

in  than  I  could  eat,  I  used  to  wish  I  could  send  the 
remains  to  Portland  to  Mr.  Moore.  Why  are  you  staring  so 
at  me  ?  It's  months  since  I  saw  a  looking-glass.  Is  there 
any  change  in  my  face  ?  " 

She  laughingly  crossed  the  room  to  an  old  mirror  that 
hung  above  the  mantelpiece. 

"  Ah,  my  cheeks  have  fallen  in  rather,  and  my  eyes  look 
bigger.     Never  mind.     Home  will  soon  cure  me." 

They  were  still  laughing  and  talking  round  the  tea-table, 
when  the  servant  came  to  announce  that  Mr.  Farrant  was  in 
the  drawing-room.  Mollie  and  Bride  murmured  a  little 
that  a  visitor  should  so  soon  have  interrupted  their  peace ; 
but  Doreen,  with  an  eager  hope  that  she  might  learn  some- 
thing about  Max  from  his  friend,  ran  swiftly  downstairs, 
glad  to  meet  once  more  a  man  for  whom  she  had  a  profound 
respect. 

"  I  have  not  come  to  detain  you  for  long,"  said  the  mem- 
ber for  Greyshot,  taking  her  hand  in  his.  "  I  only  wanted 
to  welcome  you  back  again,  and  to  bring  you  the  good  news, 
if,  indeed,  some  one  has  not  already  forestalled  me." 

"  What  news  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly,  for  though  rumours  of 
coming  change  had  reached  her  in  Dublin,  nothing  had  been 
definitely  known. 

"  The  Chief  Secretary  has  resigned,"  said  Donovan  Far- 
rant.  "  It  seems  that,  at  last,  the  English  government  and 
the  Irish  people  are  learning  to  trust  each  other,  are  willing 
to  credit  each  other  with  honest  intentions,  and  to  work 
harmoniously  for  the  good  of  Ireland.  The  prisoners  are 
to  be  released.  There  is  to  be  no  renewal  of  the  Coercion 
Act." 

Doreen's  face  grew  radiant. 

"  Thank  Grod ! "  she  said  reverently.  "  The  night  of  mis- 
trust is  over  at  last." 

"  Now  I  shall  not  stay  a  moment  longer,"  said  Donovan 
Farrant ;  "  for  I  know  your  little  people  are  hungering  for 
you  after  this  long  absence." 

"  Is  Mrs.  Farrant  well  ?  "  asked  Doreen.     "I  have  scarcely 


DOREE/sr  453 

seen  her  for  a  really  comfortable  talk  since  the  Firdale 
election." 

"She  is  very  well,  thank  you.  By  the  bye,  you  have 
heard,  I  suppose,  of  the  late  election  at  Firdale  ?  Mr.  Steele 
died  while  you  were  in  prison,  and  Max  Hereford  is  just 
elected.  He  took  his  seat  only  yesterday.  This  will  be 
a  very  auspicious  time  for  the  beginning  of  his  public  life." 

This  news  seemed  to  fill  Doreen's  cup  of  happiness  to 
the  brim.  Her  prayers  had  been  answered.  Max  had  left 
the  unsatisfactory  life  of  purposeless  wandering  abroad, 
and  had  come  back  to  work  at  the  very  time  when  he  could 
best  serve  her  country.  All  through  that  week  she  lived 
in  a  sort  of  dream  of  hope  and  joy ;  and  when  Donal  Moore, 
released  from  jail,  came  on  the  following  Saturday  to  see 
how  his  wards  were  prospering,  there  was  such  merriment 
and  glad  content,  such  eager  talk  and  overflowing  mirth, 
as  the  walls  of  the  respectable  Bernard  Street  drawing- 
room  had  never  before  witnessed.  There  had  been  light- 
hearted  gaiety,  it  is  true,  fifteen  months  before,  on  the  eve 
of  Donal  Moore's  arrest;  but  things  had  then  been  very 
dark  for  Ireland,  and  they  knew  that  trouble  was  in  store. 
Now  the  hearts  of  all  the  Irish  patriots  were  raised  in  glad 
expectation;  for  at  last  it  seemed  that  their  redemption 
was  drawing  nigh. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

**  Oh,  when  the  strife  of  tongues  is  loud 

And  the  heart  of  hope  beats  low, 
When  the  prophets  prophesy  of  ill. 

And  the  mourners  come  and  go, 
In  this  sure  thought  let  us  abide. 

And  keep  and  stay  our  heart. 
That  Calvary  and  Easter  Day, 
Earth's  heaviest  day  and  happiest  day. 

Were  but  one  day  apart." 

Susan  Coolidgb. 

"SiGNOR  Don  ATI  and  his  wife  have  come  to  see  you," 
announced  Michael  about  ten  o'clock  on  the  following  morn- 
ing, as  Doreen,  surrounded  by  the  children,  was  making 
her  usual  Sunday  breakfast  in  the  nursery. 

"  I  suppose  they  have  just  called  on  their  way  to  church," 
she  said ;  "  it's  very  kind  of  them  to  look  me  up  so  soon. 
What  a  curious  thing  it  is  that  the  Italians  are  so  much 
more  ready  to  sympathize  with  Ireland's  cause  than  English 
people." 

Carlo  and  Francesca  Donati  gave  her  a  delightful  welcome, 
and  it  was  a  minute  or  two  before  she  became  aware  that 
they  responded  rather  gravely  to  her  bright  flow  of  conver- 
sation and  her  happy  auguries  of  better  days  that  were  to 
dawn  for  her  country. 

"You  must  think  it  strange  for  us  to  come  to  you  so 
early ;  but  it  was  Ferrier's  doing,"  said  Donati.  "  He  was 
on  his  way  himself  to  see  you,  but  he  shrank  from  being 
the  bearer  of  bad  news.     He  persuaded  us  to  come  instead, 

454 


DOREEN  455 

fearing,  I  think,  that  his  English  view  of  the  matter  would 
jar  upon  you." 

"  What  news  ? "  asked  Doreen,  instantly  taking  alarm, 
and  yet  only  vaguely  fearing,  only  curiously  wondering 
what  it  could  be  that  made  the  Italian's  eyes  so  sad,  so 
pitiful. 

"  A  call  has  come  for  all  your  courage,  for  all  your  faith 
in  God,"  he  said  rapidly.  "Just  when  your  hopes  for 
Ireland  were  brightest,  just  when  England  seemed  begin- 
ning to  understand  the  justice  of  your  country's  cause,  there 
has  been  a  ghastly  tragedy,  a  murder  by  some  vile  mis- 
creants, which  will  for  a  time  alienate  the  sympathies  of 
the  English." 

She  gripped  his  hand. 

"Tell  me  quickly,"  she  cried,  in  a  voice  that  vibrated 
with  an  agony  that  no  words  could  describe.  "Who  has 
been  murdered  ?  " 

For  answer  he  put  into  her  hands  a  note  containing  the 
hastily  written,  almost  broken-hearted  words  in  which  Donal 
Moore  had  conveyed  to  Ferrier  the  news  of  that  horrible 
tragedy  which  so  strangely  united,  in  one  common  sorrow, 
one  indignant  protest,  the  English  and  the  Irish  nations. 

Doreen  read  the  names  of  the  victims.  Every  vestige  of 
colour  left  her  face ;  she  neither  spoke  nor  moved.  Fran- 
cesca,  terrified  by  her  whole  aspect,  —  for,  indeed,  she 
seemed  like  one  dead,  —  came  and  put  her  arm  round  her, 
and  kissed  her,  not  trying  to  check  her  own  tears. 

The  shock,  in  spite  of  the  way  in  which  her  friends  had 
tried  to  break  it  to  her,  had  been  overpowering;  and  for 
one  of  Doreen's  physique  and  character,  to  be  suddenly 
dashed  down  from  the  highest  pinnacle  of  hope  to  the 
deepest  gulf  of  despair,  was  a  dangerous  thing. 

"Have  you  heard  no  further  details?"  she  asked  at 
length,  in  a  voice  that  had  sunk  to  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"Nothing  more  as  yet,"  said  Donati.  "Only  just  the 
fact,  and  the  time,  and  the  place." 

She  shuddered. 


456  DOREEN 

"  It  must  have  been  at  the  very  time  when  we  were  so 
happy  here  with  Donal  just  released  from  Portland,  and  the 
chiklren  dancing  and  singing,  and  the  future  for  Irehind  all 
looking  so  bright,  so  hopeful.  Oh,  why  does  God  let  such 
awful  things  happen  ?  Why,  when  deliverance  seems  near, 
are  our  hopes  always  frustrated  by  some  ghastly  crime, 
some  fatal  misunderstanding,  some  ignorant  blunder  ?  We 
dreamed  that  our  redemption  was  at  hand,  and  now  evil  has 
triumphed.     Why  does  God  let  it  be  so  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  why  it  seems  for  a  time  to  triumph,"  said 
Donati,  in  a  low  voice,  which  strangely  moved  her,  drawing 
her  as  it  were,  by  the  speaker's  strong  conviction,  out  of  her 
gulf  of  despair.  "  It  is  enough  to  know  that  it  seemed  to 
triumph,  yet  was  for  ever  crushed  on  Calvary,  —  enough  to 
know  that  you  and  I  here,  at  this  moment,  can  share  in  the 
pain  and  in  the  victory.  Why  should  you  doubt  that  even 
through  this  vile  and  shameful  deed,  God  may  work  out  the 
redemption  of  your  country  ?  All  redemption  comes  through 
suffering;  all  life  is  won  by  pain.  That  is  God's  will  for 
this  world.  If  there  had  been  any  better  way  of  training 
us,  do  you  think  He  would  not  have  chosen  it  ?  ^  E  La  Sua 
Volontade  ^  nostra  pace.'  " 

Doreen,  out  of  her  dumb  agony,  looked  up  at  him  grate- 
fully. She  unlocked  her  hands,  and  slipped  her  cold  fingers 
into  Francesca's  comforting  clasp.  These  two,  who  had 
come  to  her  aid,  were  no  mere  talkers ;  they  had  lived  through 
their  agony,  and  in  consequence,  they  trod  the  world  some- 
what differently  to  the  generality  of  people.  It  seemed  that 
their  ears  were  more  ready  to  catch  the  throb  of  others' 
hearts ;  that  while  to  reach  most  people  the  clumsy  vehicle 
of  words  must  be  used,  these  two  understood  and  sympa- 
thized with  those  they  met  by  some  much  finer  process. 

Without  their  help,  Doreen  could  hardly  have  borne  the 
next  few  weeks ;  for  although  some  of  those  who  had  suffered 
most  from  the  terrible  tragedy  uobly  refused  to  hold  the 
Irish  nation  responsible  for  a  crime  which  was  abhorred  by 
all  save  a  few  miscreants,  the  English  nation  called  out 


DOREEN  457 

vehemently  for  vengeance,  and  coercion  became  once  more 
the  order  of  the  day.  Donal  Moore,  who,  at  first,  in  the  hor- 
ror of  receiving  the  news  of  the  tragedy,  had  wished  himself 
back  in  Portland  Prison,  where,  at  least,  he  would  have 
been  ignorant  of  the  terrible  calamity  that  had  befallen  his 
country,  now  with  characteristic  energy  and  noble-hearted 
self-sacrifice  threw  himself  into  the  difficult  task  of  fighting 
the  odious  calumnies  which  began  to  be  heaped  indiscrimi- 
nately on  all  patriotic  Irishmen.  But  the  shock  had,  for  a 
time,  paralyzed  all  the  confident  hopes  of  mutual  trust 
between  the  two  countries ;  and  Max  Hereford  was  swept 
away  with  the  multitude,  and  found  himself  listening  to 
his  uncle's  denunciations  of  the  Land  League  without  even 
attempting  to  prove  that  the  whole  scheme  of  the  Land 
League  had  been  open  and  constitutional  agitation,  and  that 
the  murders  were  clearly  the  work  of  one  of  the  secret 
societies.  News  of  his  attitude  reached  Doreen  through  the 
Magnays,  and  added  terribly  to  her  pain ;  but  she  did  not 
know  through  how  grievous  a  crisis  he  was  passing,  or  how 
the  conflict  that  had  begun  within  him  on  the  day  of  her 
arrest  had  been  bravely  fought.  Max  was  in  truth,  both  in 
his  public  and  his  private  life,"  in  a  terribly  difficult  position. 
The  time  was  rapidly  approaching  when  he  must  definitely 
declare  his  attitude  with  regard  to  the  Coercion  Bill ;  and 
the  time  was  also  approaching  when  General  Hereford 
would  expect  the  public  announcement  of  his  engagement 
to  Miriam.  As  far  as  he  knew,  Miriam  was  well  contented 
to  let  the  nominal  betrothal  become  a  genuine  one,  and  yet 
all  the  time  he  was  conscious  that  Doreen  still  exercised 
over  him  a  strange  influence;  sometimes  he  thought  he 
hated  her,  at  other  times  he  feared  he  still  loved  her,  but 
he  was  never  indifferent  to  her,  could  never  even  hear  her 
name  without  stirrings  of  heart  for  which  he  tried  to  despise 
himself. 

At  last,  goaded  almost  beyond  bearing  by  this  inward 
struggle,  he  resolved  to  go  and  hear  her  sing.  And  one 
evening,  early  in  June,  he  left  the  house  soon  after  eight 


458  DOREEN 

o'clock,  and  made  his  way  to  St.  James'  Hall,  where  Doreen 
was  announced  to  sing  at  Mr.  Boniface's  concert.  With 
indescribable  feelings  he  awaited  her  first  appearance,  and 
when  at  length  the  conductor  led  forward  the  slim,  girlish 
figure  robed  in  white  poplin,  his  heart  beat  like  a  sledge- 
hammer. Her  air  of  simplicity  and  goodness  was  entirely 
unaltered ;  but  he  thought  there  was  additional  dignity  in 
her  attitude  as  she  stood  regarding  the  audience,  while  the 
pianist  played  the  introduction  to  her  song.  The  face,  too, 
was  changed  and  had  a  fragile,  delicate  look  about  it  that 
reminded  him  somehow  of  little  Mollie,  and  the  eyes  looked 
larger  and  sadder  even  when,  at  her  warm  reception,  she 
had  smiled.  She  sang  her  most  popular  song,  "  0  Bay  of 
Dublin,"  and  the  exquisite  voice  lured  him  back,  for  the 
time,  into  a  haven  of  rest,  filling  his  mind  with  memories 
that  were  all  tender  and  gracious,  all  sharply  in  contrast 
with  his  present  miserable  conflict.  Then  came  other 
singers,  and  presently  Donati  himself,  the  star  of  the  eve- 
ning ;  but  Max  scarcely  heard  him  or  heeded  him.  He  was 
once  more  desperately  fighting  that  battle  in  his  own  heart 
which  must  settle  the  course  of  his  whole  life.  And  when 
Doreen  again  appeared,  the  very  change  in  her  aspect  angered 
him.  She  should  not,  urged  the  tempter's  voice  within  him, 
have  allowed  trouble  to  become  so  legibly  stamped  on  her 
face ;  surely,  too,  he  caught  the  gleam  of  two  or  three  white 
threads  in  her  dark  hair  ?  She  should  not,  above  all,  have 
chosen  to  sing  Linley's  "  Kate  O'Shane."  He  did  not  notice 
that  in  the  programme  it  was  stated  that  she  sang  it  by 
special  request,  nor  did  he  pause  to  reflect  that  a  soprano 
is  almost  bound  to  sing  love  songs.  He  listened  with  dark- 
ening brow  and  angry  heart  to  the  sweet  refrain,  — 

"  0  Dennis  dear,  come  back  to  me  ! 
I  count  the  hours  away  from  thee. 
Ketum,  and  never  part  again 
From  thine  own  darling  Kate  O'Shane." 

A  sort  of  fury  of  anger  and  hatred  rose  in  his  heart,  an 


DOREEN  459 

utterly  unreasoning  wrath  consumed  him,  and  it  chanced 
at  that  instant  that  Doreen,  as  she  bowed  to  the  audience, 
caught  sight  of  him.  Had  a  knife  been  plunged  into  her 
breast,  it  could  not  have  wounded  her  so  terribly  as  that 
glance ;  her  face,  as  she  passed  down  the  steps  from  the 
platform,  was  absolutely  colourless,  and  Donati,  perceiv- 
ing that  something  was  wrong,  followed  her  out  on  to  the 
stairs,  and  helped  her  to  the  artistes'  room. 

"  Max  Hereford  is  in  the  stalls  ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  He 
looked  —  oh,  I  can't  tell  you  how  he  looked!  " 

There  was  no  need  to  describe  the  change  in  Max,  for 
Donati  saw  by  the  dismay  and  horror  in  her  own  face  what 
it  must  be. 

"  You  cannot  tell  through  what  struggle  he  may  not  be 
passing,"  he  said,  with  that  perfect  sympathy  and  compre- 
hension which  characterized  him.  "  Go  back  and  sing  some- 
thing that  shall  help  him  to  conquer." 

But  the  thought  of  returning  again  to  face  Max  in  his 
present  mood,  the  horror  of  singing  to  one  who  seemed  to 
have  given  place  to  the  devil,  was  like  death  to  her.  She 
shuddered  as  the  storm  of  applause  reached  her  more  clearly 
upon  the  opening  of  the  swing  door. 

"  For  his  sake,"  said  Donati,  "  be  strong.  Help  him 
while  you  can." 

"  Will  Miss  O'Ryan  give  an  encoreV^  said  the  Norwegian 
attendant,  in  the  mechanical  tone  of  one  going  doggedly 
about  his  duty  in  spite  of  personal  suffering. 

"My  book  of  Irish  songs,  Hagar,"  said  Doreen,  quickly. 
"  Yes,  I  am  coming.  There  is  one  song,"  she  added  in  a 
low  voice  to  Donati,  "  and  only  one,  that  I  think  by  its 
memories  might  reach  him  —  if  only  I  can  sing  it." 

"You  certainly  can  sing  it  for  his  sake,"  said  Donati, 
with  that  firm  confidence  that  everything  right  was  possible, 
which  gave  his  life  such  wonderful  force. 

Doreen's  heart  was  throbbing  painfully,  but  she  did  not 
pause  or  hesitate.  She  passed  through  the  little  waiting- 
room,  smiled  at  Sardoni  as  he  bantered  her  on  having  kept 


46o  DOREEN 

tlie  audience  clapping  for  such  an  unmerciful  time,  and 
handed  the  open  book  to  Marioni. 

"  There  are  four  verses,"  she  said  to  him,  as  they  mounted 
the  steps  ;  "  I  think  I  shall  be  hissed,  but  whatever  happens 
go  on  playing." 

There  was  a  thunder  of  applause  as  the  people  caught 
sight  of  her;  then  all  became  deathly  still. 

"  My  God  ! "  she  cried  in  her  heart,  "  let  Max  understand 
the  message  —  for  no  one  else  here  will  understand." 

Marioni  began  to  play  the  introduction ;  it  was  a  well- 
known  air,  but  Doreen  had  never  sung  the  words  at  an  English 
concert,  and  she  knew  well  enough  that  at  this  time,  when 
Ireland  and  all  things  Irish  were  abhorrent  to  the  majority, 
her  choice  of  the  song  would  expose  her  to  the  bitterest 
censure.  Yet,  cost  what  it  would,  she  must  sing  it, — 
must  sing  it,  too,  to  perfection,  must  call  up  vividly  that 
shameful  scene  when  frantic  men  had  demanded  a  sacrifice, 
and  had  forgotten  that  He  who  said  ^'  Vengeance  is  mine  " 
abhors  revenge  in  a  nation  as  in  an  individual.  In  subdued 
style,  but  so  clearly  that  not  one  word  was  lost,  she  sang 
the  first  descriptive  lines,  breaking  forth  triumphantly  into 
the  refrain :  —  * 

"  High  upon  the  gallows  tree 

Swung  the  noble-hearted  three, 
By  the  vengeful  tyrant  stricken  in  their  bloom  ; 

But  they  met  him  face  to  face, 

With  the  courage  of  their  race, 
And  they  went  with  souls  undaunted  to  their  doom. 

'  God  save  Ireland  ! '  said  the  heroes  ; 

'  God  save  Ireland  ! '  said  they  all ; 

♦  Whether  on  the  scaffold  high 

Or  the  battle-field  we  die. 
Oh,  what  matter,  when  for  Erin  dear  we  fall ! '  "  i 

The  audience  seemed  startled  and  puzzled.      From  the 
front   row  she   caught   a  whispered   reply  to   a  question, 
^•The    Manchester    murderers."      The    unjust   word,   the 
J  By  the  kind  permissiqu  of  T.  D,  Sullivan,  Esq.,  M.P. 


DOREEN'  461 

utterly  untrue  statement,  brouglit  a  glow  to  her  face ;  she 
declaimed  the  second  verse  with  a  power  which  constrained 
the  people  against  their  will  to  listen  to  her. 

"  Girt  around  with  cruel  foes, 

Still  their  spirit  proudly  rose, 
For  they  thought  of  hearts  that  loved  them,  far  and  near ; 

Of  the  millions  true  and  brave 

O'er  the  ocean's  swelling  wave, 
And  the  friends  in  holy  Ireland  ever  dear." 

This  time,  at  the  close  of  the  refrain,  there  rose  a  sound 
which  she  had  never  before  heard  in  an  English  concert- 
room;  but  she  thought  of  Allen  and  Larkin  and  O'Brien, 
and  how  their  last  night  in  this  world  had  been  disturbed 
by  the  vile  songs  and  taunts  of  a  mob  howling  like  wolves 
for  their  blood,  —  and  she  spared  the  audience  nothing,  but 
went  steadily  on. 

"  Climbed  they  up  the  rugged  stair, 
Rung  their  voices  out  in  prayer. 
Then  with  England's  fatal  cord  around  them  cast, 
Close  beneath  the  gallows  tree. 
Kissed  like  brothers  lovingly, 
-  True  to  home  and  faith  and  freedom  to  the  last." 

The  people  were  now  really  angry;  the  refrain  was 
almost  drowned  in  the  storm  that  rose.  Marioni  looked 
round  at  the  singer  nervously,  hoping  that  she  would  spare 
them  that  fourth  verse,  but  Doreen  stood  like  one  wrapt  in 
contemplation,  almost,  it  seemed  to  him,  that  she  herself 
had  become  one  of  those  victims  about  to  be  offered,  and 
her  extraordinary  calm,  in  the  midst  of  an  uproar  that 
would  have  shaken  the  nerves  of  the  most  courageous, 
began  to  influence  all  her  hearers;  the  hisses  died  away, 
and  once  more  the  exquisite  voice  rang  through  the  great 
hall.  Max,  throughout  the  song,  had  never  taken  his  eyes 
off  her;  he  had  known  at  once  that  she  was  singing  for 
him,  and  for  him  alone.  Once  more  he  was  climbing  the 
mountain  beside  her  in  the  early  morning,  and  she  wns 


462  DOREEN" 

eagerly  telling  him  of  the  Manchester  martyrs.  "And 
Allen,"  he  could  hear  the  childish  voice  saying,  "  was  only 
seventeen,  —  a  whole  year  younger  than  you.  He  had  done 
nothing  but  open  the  doors  to  let  the  prisoners  out.  He  was 
so  brave  that  he  wouldn't  defend  himself,  but  just  fired  his 
pistol  in  the  air,  and  the  English  almost  tore  him  to  pieces." 
The  storm  of  disapproval  startled  and  horrified  Max; 
that  Doreen  should  be  exposed  to  this  made  his  heart  hot 
within  him.  Had  he  acted  on  impulse,  he  would  have 
forced  his  way  to  her  there  and  then.  And  yet  she  looked 
very  little  in  need  of  such  support  as  he  might  give.  That 
wonderful  light  which  had  startled  the  magistrate  and  had 
made  Maurice  Mooney's  gossoon  protest  that  she  was  not 
to  be  pitied,  for  she  looked  like  an  angel,  now  struck  all  who 
looked  at  her.     Her  whole  face  seemed  transfigured  as  she 

sang,  — 

"  Never  till  the  latest  day 
Shall  the  memory  pass  away 
Of  the  gallant  lives  thus  given  for  our  land ; 
But  on  the  cause  must  go, 
Amidst  joy,  or  weal,  or  woe, 
Till  we've  made  our  isle  a  nation  free  and  grand. 

*  God  save  Ireland  ! '  say  we  proudly  ; 

*  God  save  Ireland  ! '  say  we  all ; 

*  Whether  on  the  scaffold  high 
Or  the  battle-field  we  die, 

Oh,  what  matter,  when  for  Erin  dear  we  fall ! '  " 

At  the  close  no  one  hissed,  no  one  applauded ;  there  was 
a  little  buzz  of  talk  through  the  hall,  and  Doreen  passed 
swiftly  off  the  platform,  to  be  greeted  by  astonished  ques- 
tions from  her  companions.  Donati  helped  her  by  instantly 
going  on  for  his  next  song ;  and  soon  the  audience,  which 
had  been  thrilled  and  horrified  by  the  graphic  description 
of  a  shameful  scene  for  which,  as  a  nation,  they  had  as  yet 
felt  no  regret,  were  listening  to  the  very  different  refrain 
of  Gounod's  "  Nazareth,"  — 

"  Lo,  the  Lord  of  heaven  hath  to  mortals  given 
Life  for  evermore," 


DOREEN  463 

Doreen  drank  in  every  phrase  of  the  song  with  relief  and 
delight ;  but  afterwards,  while  Madame  Gauthier,  the  pian- 
ist, was  playing,  the  low-toned  discussion  upon  Irish  rights 
waxed  hot,  and  Stainforth,  who  had  never  quite  forgiven 
her  plain  speaking  in  the  autumn  at  Hastings,  said  many 
scathing  things. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Donati,  when  the  welcome  call  for 
the  violin  player  had  come.  "  Out  of  brave  suffering  springs 
deliverance.  Did  you  ever  hear  how  the  oppressed  peasants 
in  Japan  won  their  rights  ?  There  was  a  brave  peasant, 
named  Sogoro,  in  the  seventeenth  century ;  and  he,  seeing 
how  the  land  agents  tyrannized  over  the  people,  and  how  all 
petitions  were  disregarded,  volunteered  to  place  an  appeal 
actually  in  the  hands  of  the  Tycoon  himself  as  he  passed 
in  state  along  the  road.  For  thus  disturbing  royalty,  he 
was  handed  over  to  his  own  feudal  lord,  —  the  very  man 
against  whom  he  had  petitioned.  And  this  tyrant  caused 
Sogoro  and  his  wife  to  be  crucified,  and  all  their  children  to 
be  beheaded.  But  the  work  was  done.  The  Tycoon  had 
received  the  petition;  the  wrongs  of  the  peasantry  were 
revealed,  and  the  government  redressed  them." 

Meanwhile  Max  impatiently  awaited  Doreen's  final  appear- 
ance. She  was  to  sing  Gounod's  "  Barcarola  "  with  Donati, 
and  he  longed  hungrily  for  one  more  sight  of  her.  He 
knew  her  far  too  well  to  imagine  that  she  had  been  indif- 
ferent to  her  reception.  He  was  perfectly  well  aware  that 
to  face  again  the  audience  that  had  insulted  her  would  be 
no  easy  matter  for  one  of  her  temperament.  When,  by  and 
bye,  he  watched  Donati  leading  her  on  to  the  platform, 
with  his  chivalrous  air,  and  talking  to  her  as  though  intent 
on  keeping  in  check  all  memory  of  what  had  gone  before, 
he  felt  a  pang  of  envy,  and  a  sudden,  swift  perception  that 
the  Italian  was  worthy  to  stand  beside  her  in  this  difficult 
moment,  and  that  he  himself  was  wholly  unworthy.  For- 
tunately the  audience  had  the  good  sense  to  appreciate 
the  lovely  duet,  and  to  realize  that  there  was  Something 
particularly  sympathetic  in  the  blending  of  the  two  beau- 


464  DOREEN 

tiful  voices.  For  days  after  Max  was  haunted  by  the 
phrase,  — 

"  Safe  o'er  the  waters  gliding, 
Come,  love,  and  sail  with  me.'* 

And  always  he  could  hear  Doreen's  prayer  for  Ireland,  and 
could  see  the  spiritual  beauty  of  her  face  as  she  confronted 
that  hostile  audience.  More  than  once  it  gave  "  the  battle 
to  his  hands,"  and  through  the  days  that  followed,  he  pain- 
fully struggled  up  once  more,  until  he  had  made  good  his 
standing-place. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

**  We  owe  allegiance  to  the  State  ;  but  deeper,  truer,  more, 
To  the  sympathies  that  God  hath  set  within  our  spirit's  core  ; 
Our  country  claims  our  fealty  ;  we  grant  it  so,  but  then. 
Before  man  made  us  citizens,  great  Nature  made  us  men. 

"  He's  true  to  God  who's  true  to  man  ;  wherever  wrong  is  done, 
To  the  humblest  and  the  weakest,  'neath  the  all-beholding  sun, 
That  wrong  is  also  done  to  us  ;  and  they  are  slaves  most  base, 
Whose  love  of  right  is  for  themselves,  and  not  for  all  their  race. " 

Lowell. 

DoREEN  awoke  on  the  following  morning  to  find  herself 
alarmingly  hoarse;  to  fulfil  her  engagements  was  out  of 
the  question.  Indeed,  Brian  Osmond  condemned  her  to 
three  days  of  absolute  silence.  "One  might  almost  as 
well  be  in  prison  again,"  she  wrote  on  her  slate.  "  It's  by 
far  the  worst  punishment  you  could  devise  for  a  talkative 
Irishwoman ! " 

Her  doctor  was  more  anxious  about  her  than  she  realized, 
and  devised  every  means  he  could  think  of  to  divert  her 
mind  and  build  up  once  more  her  failing  strength.  It  was 
owing  to  a  word  from  him  that  Mrs.  Farrant  called  and 
persuaded  her  to  go  for  a  daily  drive  with  her;  and  one 
morning,  early  in  the  following  week,  there  came  a  little 
note  which  greatly  delighted  Doreen.     It  ran  as  follows :  — 

*'Dear  Miss  O'Ryan,  —  My  husband  has  managed  to  get  an  order 
for  the  Speaker's  ladies'  gallery  for  to-night.  Will  you  come  with 
me  ?    It  would  be  a  great  pleasure  to  have  you, 

"  Yours  very  sincerely, 

''Gladys  Farrant." 
466  FF 


466  DOREEN 

There  could,  of  course,  be  only  one  reply  to  such  a  pro- 
posal ;  for  Doreen  liked  nothing  better  than  to  hear  a 
debate.  She  was  eager  to  go,  and  Mrs.  Garth  was  glad  to 
see  her  cheered  by  anything,  and  knew  that  Brian  Osmond 
would  approve.  Though  allowed  now  to  talk  once  more, 
her  voice  was  still  uncertain  and  troublesome,  and  the  great 
authority  on  throats,  to  whom  she  had  repaired,  had  forbid- 
den her  to  sing  for  another  ten  days.  The  time  hung 
heavily  on  her  hands,  and  it  was  a  great  relief  to  be  with 
such  a  delightful  companion  as  Mrs.  Farrant,  and  to  be 
taken  into  an  entirely  different  world,  —  the  world,  more- 
over, in  which  Max  Hereford  had  just  taken  his  place. 
Their  order  gave  them  one  front  seat  and  one  back,  and 
Gladys  Farrant,  who  had  more  opportunities  of  visiting  the 
House,  insisted  that  she  should  have  the  best  place. 

A  remarkably  dull  speech  was  in  progress,  and  the  mem- 
bers were  gradually  reassembling  after  the  dinner-hour. 
Looking  down  through  the  lattice-work,  Doreen  recognized 
many  familiar  faces.  There,  just  below,  was  the  Prime 
Minister,  who  had  talked  so  kindly  to  her  when  in  her  dis- 
tress she  had  gone  to  him  on  that  autumn  Sunday.  Over 
on  the  Irish  benches  she  could  see  Fitzhugh's  calm,  in- 
scrutable face,  and  O'Carroll,  looking  very  wan  and  weary, 
evidently  still  suffering  from  the  effects  of  his  imprison- 
ment, and  Dennis  McMurtrie,  with  his  air  of  gentle  dignity, 
and  a  host  of  others  well  known  to  her,  —  some  of  them  past 
masters  in  the  mysteries  of  obstruction  and  interruption. 
On  the  Liberal  benches,  below  the  gangway,  she  could  dis- 
cern Donovan  Farrant's  fine  profile,  but  she  looked  in  vain 
for  Max  Hereford.  The  House  had  gone  into  committee  on 
the  Coercion  Bill,  and  Fitzhugh  was  moving  an  amendment, 
when  Doreen  became  suddenly  aware  that  Max  had  just  en- 
tered the  door.  She  saAv  him  bow  to  the  Chair  and  quietlf 
walk  to  the  vacant  place  beside  the  member  for  Greyshot ; 
and,  watching  him  long  and  closely,  she  was  satisfied  that  he 
was  in  a  very  different  mood  to-night ;  that  since  she  had  last 
seen  him  he  had  lived  to  good  purpose.     For  Max  had  one  of 


DOREEN  467 

those  faces  which  are  curiously  dependent  on  expression,  and 
she  had  known  and  loved  him  for  so  many  years  that  she 
understood  what  was  passing  in  his  mind  almost  as  a 
mother  can  understand  the  heart  of  her  child. 

The  strenuous  resistance  made  by  the  Irish  members  to  the 
Coercion  Bill  met  with  scant  sympathy  from  the  House, 
but  among  the  very  few  English  voices  raised  for  Ireland 
was  Donovan  Farrant's.  His  brief,  forceful  speech  made 
him  many  enemies,  and  was  vehemently  attacked  by  the 
next  speaker;  but  Doreen  blessed  him  in  her  heart,  and  a 
hope  rose  within  her  that  Max,  too,  would  follow  in  his 
steps.  She  thought  it  just  possible  that  he  would  vote  for 
the  amendment,  but  she  had  not  expected  him  to  speak. 
Her  breath  came  hard  and  fast  when  she  saw  him  rise,  for 
she  knew  that  it  was  his  maiden  speech.  Was  it  possible 
that  he  would  espouse  a  cause  so  unpopular? — that  he 
would,  for  love  of  Ireland,  separate -himself  not  only  from 
his  own  party,  but  from  almost  all  his  countrymen? 

With  hands  fast  locked  together,  with  rapt  attention  and 
exquisite  content,  she  listened  to  the  musical,  finely  modu- 
lated voice,  speaking  in  favour  of  Fitzhugh's  amendment, 
heeding  neither  Tory  interruptions,  nor  the  vehement  con- 
tradictions of  his  own  party;  but,  with  a  masterly  self- 
control,  avoiding  flights  of  rhetoric,  and  throwing  the  whole 
force  of  his  being  into  an  appeal  for  justice  and  generosity 
to  Ireland.  The  speech  was  quite  a  short  one  ;  but  it  had 
made  its  mark.  And  Max,  now  that  he  had  crossed  the 
Rubicon,  felt  a  different  man.  True,  his  private  life  was 
difficult  and  involved,  and  as  yet  he  could  see  no  right 
way  out  of  the  maze  in  which  he  had  so  long  wandered ; 
but  his  public  life  lay  clearly  before  him.  He  had  chosen  a 
rough  road,  and  his  spirit  rose  to  face  the  difficulties  of  the 
way. 

For  some  minutes  Doreen  enjoyed  the  most  perfect  hap- 
piness she  had  known  for  months.  She  recognized  once 
more  that  quality  which  had  long  ago  drawn  her  to  Max,  — 
his  great  power  of  dwelling  on  the  things  that  make  for 

ff2 


468  DOREEN 

unity  and  concord,  his  capacity  for  seeing  good  in  those  of 
another  race.  Instead  of  gloating  over  evil,  and  carefully 
searching  for  points  of  disagreement,  he  seemed  to  throw 
out  into  strong  relief  all  that  was  noble  and  worthy  of 
praise.  She  realized,  once  more,  how  great  her  ambition 
was  for  him,  —  how  strong  was  her  hope  that  he  would 
indeed  prove  himself  the  strenuous,  great-hearted  worker 
of  her  early  dreams.  But  suddenly  a  whispered  conversa- 
tion, just  behind  her,  came  to  paralyze  all  her  springs  of 

joy- 

"  How  angry  General  Hereford  will  be,"  said  the  voice. 
"  Oh,  did  you  not  know  about  it  ?  The  member  for  Firdale 
is  his  nephew,  and  is  engaged  to  Miriam.  The  Greneral  told 
your  father  so  the  other  day.  It  is  to  be  announced  almost 
directly.  They  were  engaged  at  Biarritz.  Miriam  will 
have  to  convert  him  from  his  Eadical  views,  or  the  marriage 
will  be  a  failure." 

For  a  minute  or  two  Doreen  sat  motionless,  feeling  as 
though  some  one  had  struck  her  on  the  head  and  had 
numbed  all  her  faculties.  In  a  confused  way  she  looked 
down  on  the  busy  pencils  of  the  reporters,  just  visible  in 
the  press  gallery  below,  and  on  the  members ;  but  it  was 
in  vain  that  she  tried  to  see  Max.  He  had  vanished.  She 
was  almost  inclined  to  think  that  his  whole  speech  had 
been  but  a  dream,  and  that  she  had  wakened  just  in  time 
to  hear  that  dreadful  whisper  behind  her.  Yet  they  had 
spoken  of  his  Kadical  views,  had  said  that  the  marriage 
would  be  a  failure,  — his  marriage  with  Miriam  !  At  that 
intolerable  thought  she  felt  that  she  could  endure  her 
present  surroundings  no  longer ;  that  gilded  cage,  with  its 
low  ceiling  and  dark  wooden  walls,  and  dazzling,  spotted 
carpet,  and  stifling  atmosphere,  was  insufferable.  She  rose 
to  go,  and  breathed  more  freely  when  they  were  outside. 
Gladys  Farrant  had  also  heard  the  whispered  conversation ; 
but  she  dared  not  allude  to  it.  She  spoke  instead  of  the 
great  heat  of  the  place. 

"We  will  come  home,"  she  said.     "I  will  just  leave  a 


DOREEN'  469 

message  for  my  husband,  as  he  spoke  of  fetching  us.  It  is 
already  very  late,  and  I  fear  it  is  not  much  good  waiting  to 
hear  the  result  of  the  division.  That  bore,  too,  who  is 
speaking  now,  will  probably  talk  for  the  next  half  hour." 

"  I  am  so  sorry  to  take  you  away,"  said  Doreen,  wrap- 
ping her  red  cloak  about  her,  as  they  reached  the  head  of  the 
staircase.  Then  suddenly  she  caught  at  the  balustrade,  for, 
coming  up  the  steps,  she  perceived  Max  Hereford. 

He  greeted  Mrs.  Farrant  cheerfully,  saying  that  he  was 
on  his  way  to  look  after  some  friends  of  Lady  Kachel's  in 
the  ladies'  gallery ;  then  suddenly  he  perceived  Doreen,  and 
flushed  painfully.  She  quickly  regained  her  composure  at 
sight  of  his  embarrassment,  however,  and  with  eager  desire 
to  help  him  over  this  painful  meeting,  held  out  her  hand, 
and  smiled. 

"  Thank  you  in  Ireland's  name  for  your  speech,'^  she 
said. 

"  I  fear  it  will  do  no  good ;  this  bill  is  certain  to  pass," 
said  Max,  recovering  himself,  and  insisting  on  going  down 
with  them  and  putting  them  into  a  hansom. 

"  If  it  were  not  for  the  misery  and  evil  wrought  by  these 
incessant  Coercion  Acts,  one  would  be  inclined  to  laugh  at 
the  euphonious  names  they  give  them,"  said  Doreen,  still 
talking  with  an  eager  animation  which  Mrs.  Farrant  under- 
stood, and  could  not  but  admire.  "  When  they  dub  them 
the  *  Protection  of  Property  Act,'  and  the  '  Prevention  of 
Crime  Act,'  it  always  makes  me  think  of  the  stoiy  of  the 
tourist  in  Ireland,  who  was  surprised  to  find  incessant 
entries  in  his  bill  under  the  head  of  ^  Refreshment  for  the 
horse ' ;  on  asking  what  it  meant,  the  driver  replied  :  *  Sure 
thin,  yer  honour,  that's  just  the  whip-cord.' " 

There  was  a  general  laugh  at  this,  and  Mrs.  Farrant  kept 
the  conversation  going  briskly  afterwards,  to  the  relief  of 
her  two  companions.  When,  at  length,  the  strain  was  over, 
and  Doreen  could  lie  back  with  closed  eyes  in  the  hansom, 
all  the  misery  of  recollection  rushed  back  upon  her  with 
renewed  force.     Yet  her  vigorous  young  life  would  not, 


470  DOREEN 

even  now,  wholly  yield ;  and  she  wrestled  with  that  strong 
craving  for  the  mere  peace  of  death  which  conies  to  most 
people  in  any  very  acute  pain.  The  horse-hoofs  seemed  to 
beat  out  upon  the  road  the  refrain  of  a  song  which  she  had 
sung  in  many  a  hospital  ward :  — 

"  Not  so,  not  so,  no  load  of  woe 
Need  bring  despairing  frown  ; 
For  while  we  bear  it  we  can  bear, 
Past  that  we  lay  it  down." 

"  At  least  my  professional  life  is  left  to  me/'  she  said  to 
herself  bravely.     "  All  is  not  lost ! " 

Two  days  after  this,  a  somewhat  animated  discussion 
took  place  between  General  Hereford  and  his  daughter. 
Miriam  had  come  in  late  for  lunch,  looking  much  annoyed. 

"I  do  wish,  papa,''  she  said  querulously,  "that  you  would 
not  announce  my  engagement  to  people.  I  find  that  the 
Tresidders  know  all  about  it." 

"Well,  yes;  I  certainly  did  tell  Sir  John,"  said  the 
General.  "But  what  does  it  matter,  my  dear?  It  is  to 
be  generally  announced  in  a  few  days." 

"It  matters  very  much  indeed,"  said  Miriam.  "Mabel 
Tresidder  was  in  the  ladies'  gallery  with  her  mother  on 
the  night  Max  spoke,  and  it  seemed  that  they  mentioned 
the  engagement ;  and  just  afterwards,  to  their  horror,  they 
found  that  Doreen  O'Ryan  was  sitting  exactly  in  front  of 
them,  and  must  have  heard  every  word.  I  wouldn't  have 
had  that  happen  for  the  world." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  said  the  General,  composedly.  "  Then, 
my  dear,  you  really  need  not  disturb  yourself.  Depend 
upon  it,  a  public  character  like  Miss  O'Ryan  is  well  able  to 
take  care  of  herself.  I  never  did  like  the  girl ;  the  way  in 
which  she  allowed  those  two  boys  to  be  brought  up  in 
popery,  and  the  audacious  way  in  which  she  used  to  declare 
that  the  teachings  of  the  Church  of  Eome  suited  the  Irish 
nation,  just  showed  what  an  unfit  person  she  was  for  your 


DOREEM  471 

Miriam  smiled. 

"  She  had  no  choice  about  the  education  of  Michael  and 
Dermot ;  it  was  arranged,  at  the  time  of  her  parents'  mar- 
riage, that  the  boys  should  be  brought  up  in  their  father's 
belief,  and  the  girls  in  their  mother's.  As  to  the  other 
matter,  we  certainly  have  failed  to  gain  the  Irish,  as  a 
nation,  to  our  views ;  and  they  are  just  as  devout  Catholics 
as  the  people  in  the  Tyrol  you  used  to  admire  so  much." 

"  My  dear  Miriam,"  pleaded  Lady  Rachel,  "  pray  do  not 
introduce  these  controversial  topics.  Nothing  shows  such 
bad  taste.  And,  by  the  bye,  my  dear,  did  you  ask  Max 
about  the  diamonds  ?  He  may  have  sent  them  to  the  bank, 
you  know ;  and  I  really  should  like  you  to  wear  the  Here- 
ford diamonds  next  week  at  the  State  ball.  I  am  sure  he 
wouldn't  mind.     I  shall  speak  to  him  myself." 

"Oh,  Max  won't  mind,"  said  Miriam,  easily.  "If  you 
like,  mamma,  we  might  just  drive  round  there  and  catch 
him  before  he  goes  to  the  House." 

The  great  drawing-room  in  Grosvenor  Square,  which  had 
been  so  pretty  in  Mrs.  Hereford's  lifetime,  seemed  now 
somewhat  bare  and  desolate.  Max  came  in  to  receive  them, 
looking,  they  thought,  tired  and  worried.  But  he  responded 
with  cheerful  alacrity  to  his  aunt's  prettily  worded  request 
for  the  Hereford  diamonds,  and  went  off  at  once  in  search 
of  them. 

"  They  are  probably  in  the  safe,"  he  reflected,  going  down 
to  the  library.  "  Ah,  yes ;  now  I  remember,"  he  thought, 
with  a  swift  pang.  "  Doreen  had  them,  and  she  sent  them 
back  that  day  last  July  when  I  was  just  starting  for 
Manchester." 

He  took  out  his  keys,  unlocked  the  skilfully  concealed 
iron  door,  and  lifted  out  the  old  despatch  box  in  which  he 
now  remembered  putting  the  unopened  packet.  There  it 
lay,  in  the  place  where  he  had  so  hastily  thrust  it.  He  cut 
the  string,  and  unfolded  the  paper ;  out  rolled  a  packet  of 
his  own  letters.  He  pushed  them  aside,  and  removed  two 
or  three  cases  which  he  knew  contained  the  bracelets  and 


472  DOkEEN' 

the  betrothal  ring  which  he  had  given  to  Doreen.  Below 
these  was  the  large,  brown  morocco  case  containing  the 
Hereford  diamonds,  and  on  the  top  of  the  case  lay  a  letter 
directed  to  him  in  the  familiar  handwriting.  He  gave  a 
stifled  cry  of  surprise  and  consternation.  Then,  with  a 
fast-throbbing  heart,  he  tore  open  the  envelope,  and  eagerly 
read  that  letter  which  it  had  cost  her  so  much  to  write. 

"  What  a  fool  —  what  a  brute  I  must  have  been  to  doubt 
the  woman  who  could  write  that ! "  he  thought  to  himself. 
"  And,  oh  God  !  all  this  time .  she  has  been  thinking  that  I 
have  read  her  words !  She  thought  it  when  we  met  that 
day  in  the  train,  and  again  last  Monday  in  the  House. 
Doreen!  Doreen!  No  fiend  could  have  made  you  suffer 
more  horribly !  " 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  paced  to  and  fro  in  terrible 
agitation;  great  beads  of  perspiration  stood  on  his  brow. 
The  more  he  thought,  the  more  desperate  he  became ;  for, 
with  all  its  restraint  and  dignity,  the  letter  made  no  attempt 
to  disguise  the  truth  that  Doreen  loved  him  and  must  always 
love  him,  and  his  heart  passionately  echoed  her  words  — 
"  We  still  belong  to  each  other." 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  What  could  be  done  ?  Oh,  for 
one  word  of  advice  from  his  mother,  or  from  some  one  he 
could  trust,  to  show  him  what  honour  now  required  of  him. 
The  one  intolerable  thought  was  that,  before  he  had  seen 
his  way  clearly  through  the  perplexities,  into  which  a  mere 
act  of  carelessness  had  plunged  him,  he  should  be  called  on 
to  talk  to  Lady  Rachel  and  Miriam. 

Thrusting  Doreen's  letter  into  his  pocket,  and  sweeping 
back  into  the  despatch  box  all,  save  the  case  containing  the 
diamonds,  he  sharply  rang  the  bell,  and  ordered  the  man  to 
call  a  hansom. 

The  old  family  servant  looked  anxiously  at  his  master's 
pale,  agitated  face  when  he  returned  to  announce  that  the 
cab  was  at  the  door  ;  but  he  made  no  comment,  and  with  a 
perfectly  unmoved  countenance  received  the  morocco  case 
which  was  put  into  his  hand. 


DOREEN  473 

"Take  this  to  Miss  Hereford  in  the  drawing-room,"  said 
Max,  "  and  apologize  to  Lady  Rachel  for  me.  Say  that  I  was 
unexpectedly  called  away." 

He  drove  down  to  the  House,  and  had  the  good  fortune  to 
come  across  Donovan  Farrant,  the  one  man  to  whom  he  felt 
that  he  could  appeal  in  his  perplexity. 

"  I  want  a  few  words  with  you,"  he  said,  when  at  length 
he  had  realized  that  he  must  make  his  opportunity,  and  that 
it  would  not  fall  as  it  were  at  his  very  feet.  "  Will  you 
just  take  a  turn  on  the  terrace  with  me  ?  " 

The  terrace  was  deserted,  for  although  it  was  June,  the 
air  from  the  river  was  cold  and  the  day  uninviting.  There 
was  a  certain  grim  look  about  the  darkly  flowing  river  and 
the  broad,  deserted  walk  and  the  frowning  walls  of  the 
great  building,  which  seemed  to  Max  in  harmony  with  his 
own  feelings. 

"  You  and  Mrs.  Warrant,"  he  began  quickly,  "  know  all 
the  facts  about  my  betrothal  with  Miss  O'Ryan  and  its 
sudden  ending.  I  want  you  now  to  tell  me  what  you  would 
think  right  if  you  were  in  my  case."  He  then  told  his 
companion  as  briefly  as  possible  the  exact  state  of  affairs. 

"  I  would  certainly  tell  Miss  Hereford  the  truth.  She  has  a 
right  to  know  it,"  said  Donovan  Warrant.  "  Strangely  enough 
the  report  of  your  engagement  to  her  has  already  leaked 
out.  It  was  mentioned  in  the  ladies'  gallery  on  the  night 
you  spoke,  and  my  wife  and  Miss  O'Eyan  overheard  all  that 
was  said." 

Max  made  an  ejaculation  of  despair.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  at  every  turn  he  was  confronted  by  fresh  evidence  of 
the  suffering  he  had  caused  Doreen.  "  Say  no  more  ! "  he 
said  hastily  ;  "  here  is  Everest  bearing  down  upon  us." 

And  truly  enough,  the  member  for  Mardentown  paused 
to  accost  them,  having  also  apparently  the  full  intention  of 
getting  an  answer  to  a  question. 

"  You  both  of  you  know  Miss  O'Ryan,"  he  said.  "  I  wish 
you  would  tell  me  if  there's  any  truth  in  this  report  of  her 
illness  that  I've  just  heard.". 


474  DOREEISr 

"  I  understand,"  said  Donovan  Farrant,  feeling  sorry  for 
Max,  "  that  they  have  been  anxious  about  her  ever  since  the 
shock  she  received  in  hearing  of  the  Irish  tragedy.  Do  you 
know  her  at  all  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  can  hardly  say  I  know  her,"  said  the  member 
for  Mardentown;  "but  last  winter,  when  the  Chief  Secre- 
tary —  as  he  then  was  —  had  been  speaking  to  my  constitu- 
ents, she  actually  came  to  the  house,  just  as  he  was  leaving, 
to  warn  him  that,  lying  in  wait  for  him  at  the  station,  were 
two  men  she  recognized  as  his  avowed  enemies,  and  she 
implored  him  to  avoid  the  risk  and  to  go  to  London  by  the 
other  line.  He  was  at  last  persuaded  to  consent  to  the 
change  of  plans,  and  I  believe  there  is  good  reason  to  know 
that  it  is  not  the  only  time  he  had  a  very  narrow  escape. 
They  say  he  was  much  pained  by  the  news  of  her  arrest, 
but  his  rigid  rule  not  to  interfere  with  the  decision  of  the 
magistrates  kept  him  from  releasing  her.  She  must  be  a 
brave  woman,  and  I  shan't  forget  how  she  pleaded  with 
him  that  day  to  take  the  precautions  which  he  detested. 
His  policy  must  have  been  hateful  to  her,  but  she  was  too 
noble-minded  to  wish  a  hair  of  his  head  to  be  touched. 
I  believe,  too,  he  had  once  given  her  an  interview,  and  had, 
in  consequence  of  something  she  told  him,  released  one  of 
the  suspects.  He  said  something  to  that  effect  to  me  at 
Mardentown,  when  we  were  speaking  of  her,  but  he  gave  no 
details." 

Max,  with  a  sickening  sense  that  here  was  another  rev- 
elation that  reproached  and  tortured  him  almost  beyond 
bearing,  muttered  an  excuse  and  left  his  two  companions. 
Should  he  try  to  find  out  fuller  details  of  all  that  Doreen 
had  done  for  him  ?  Should  he  speak  to  the  retired  Chief 
Secretary  ?  That  was  for  the  time,  at  auy  rate,  impossible, 
since  the  overworked  and  overwearied  statesman  had  just 
gone  abroad  for  a  holiday.  He  was  slowly  making  his  way 
up  the  stairs  when  he  was  accosted  by  one  of  the  messen- 
gers, who  handed  him  a  card,  on  which  was  written  the 
name  "Mrs.  Claude  Magnay."      And  instantly  leaping  to 


DOREEN-  475 

the  conclusion  that  his  cousin's  wife  was  bringing  him  news 
of  Doreen's  ilhiess,  he  hastened  to  St.  Stephen's  Hall,  and 
for  the  first  time,  standing  between  the  two  policemen, 
heard  his  name  shouted  out  to  the  waiting  crowd  in  stento- 
rian tones.  Then,  to  his  surprise,  up  the  long  double  line 
of  people  awaiting  members,  there  walked,  not  only  Espe- 
rance  Magnay,  but  Miriam. 

"  I  have  been  entrapped  into  chaperoning  Miriam,"  said 
Esperance,  gaily,  as  he  took  them  a  little  aside.  "You 
need  not  be  afraid.  I  am  not  coming  to  waste  your  time ; 
but  they  happened  to  find  me  on  the  steps  at  Wilton  Cres- 
cent, and  Miriam  whirled  me  off  in  the  carriage  whether  I 
would  or  not." 

"  Look,  Max !  "  said  Miriam,  eagerly.  "  Here  is  a  note 
which  arrived  for  you  just  after  you  had  left  home.  Mamma 
and  I  were  crossing  the  hall,  when  up  came  a  porter  from 
St.  Thomas'  Hospital  with  this  letter  for  you.  It  is  from 
one  of  the  patients,  who  urgently  wishes  to  see  you.  The 
man  said  he  is  not  likely  to  live  long." 

"  Who  can  it  be  ?  "  said  Max.  "  I  don't  know  any  one  at 
St.  Thomas'." 

"Don't  you  recognize  the  writing?"  said  Miriam,  in  a 
tone  of  astonished  impatience.  "  Why,  it  is  from  your  old 
tutor,  Mr.  Desmond,  unless  my  eyes  have  much  deceived 
me." 

With  a  stifled  ejaculation  of  surprise,  Max  tore  open  the 
envelope  and  read  the  following  lines :  — 

"  Dear  Max  :  —  I  telegraphed  this  morning  to  ask  Miss  O'Ryan  to 
come  and  see  me,  but  her  brother  sent  a  reply  that  she  was  too  ill, 
and  that  they  had  not  even  given  her  my  message.  Will  you  come  ? 
There  is  much  that  I  want  to  say  to  you.  I  have  had  a  bad  accident, 
and  the  time  left  is  short. 

"  Yours  very  truly, 

»*J.  D." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Max,  handing  her  the  note,  and 
observing  that  as  she  read  the  wgrds  her  colour  changed. 


476  DOREEN- 

"I  must  go  to  him  at  once.  Thank  you  for  bringing  me 
this.  I  would  not  for  the  world  have  received  it  too 
late." 

"  I  must  come  with  you,"  said  Miriam,  resolutely. 

He  gave  her  a  startled  glance ;  but  something  in  her  face 
kept  him  from  remonstrating.  He  remembered  that  in  the 
old  days  his  tutor  had  loved  Miriam.  Was  that  love,  even 
now,  returned  ? 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

"  Love  was  playing  hide  and  seek, 

And  we  deemed  that  lie  was  gone  ; 
Tears  were  on  my  withered  cheek 

For  the  setting  of  our  sun  ; 
Dark  it  was  around,  above, 
But  he  came  again,  my  love  ! 

*♦  And  our  melancholy  frost 

Woke  to  radiance  in  his  rays. 
Who  wore  the  look  of  one  we  lost 

In  the  far-away  dim  days ; 
No  prayer,  he  sighed,  the  dead  may  move. 
Yet  he  came  again,  my  love  ! " 

The  Hon.  Boden  Nobl. 

EspERANCE,  with  her  usual  tact,  declared  that  she  must 
go  home  by  the  Metropolitan,  and  laughingly  protested  that 
when  once  they  were  out  of  the  sacred  precincts  of  the 
House,  Miriam  would  no  more  require  her  services  as  chai> 
eron.  And  so  it  happened  that,  quite  alone,  the  two  cousins 
drove  to  St.  Thomas',  and  were  ushered  through  long  corri- 
dors, and  up  a  broad  staircase  to  the  Albert  ward.  On  the 
landing  they  were  received  by  one  of  the  sisters,  who  ex- 
plained to  them  that  as  Desmond  was  particularly  anxious 
to  receive  a  private  visit,  she  had  had  him  moved  into 
the  small  ward  where  they  could  interview  him  without 
interruption.  Max  asked  a  few  questions  as  to  the  nature 
of  his  friend's  accident,  and  they  learnt  that  some  days 
before  he  had  been  severely  burnt ;  that  bad  symptoms  had 

d77 


478  DOREEN 

now  set  in ;  and  that  recovery  was  very  improbable.  They 
were  advised  not  to  allow  him  to  talk  very  long.  And  then, 
without  further  delay,  the  sister  took  them  into  the  pres- 
ence of  the  dying  man,  whose  face  lighted  up  with  aston- 
ishment and  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  Miriam. 

"It  is  good  of  you  to  come,"  he  said,  his  eager,  dark 
eyes  devouring  her  face.  "  But  you  will  see  now  how  truly 
I  told  you  that  we  were  hopelessly  separated.  You  did  not 
take  my  advice,  though  ?  " 

He  glanced  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  No,"  said  Miriam,  steadily ;  "  there  are  people  who  still 
imagine  that  Max  and  I  shall  one  day  be  married,  but  it  is 
not  true.  We  have  never  cared  for  each  other.  I  have 
never  really  loved  any  man  but  you ;  and  Max  has,  I  be- 
lieve, been  all  the  time  faithful  to  Doreen." 

Max  sat  beside  the  bed,  absolutely  silent,  stabbed  to  the 
heart  by  those  last  words.  Had  he  not,  rather,  been  abso- 
lutely faithless  ?  Had  not  she  herself  reproached  him  with 
having  believed  of  her  what  no  other  man  would  have 
believed  ? 

"  Doreen  was  a  brave  child,"  said  Desmond,  "  and  she  has 
proved  herself  a  brave  woman.  She  risked  much  for  love 
of  you  last  summer.  I  hardly  thought  what  I  was  asking 
of  her.  I  knew  that  Foxell's  widow  and  that  scamp  of  a 
Frenchman  had  spies  at  work,  and  that  you  stood  in  danger 
of  disgrace  and  exposure.  I  dreaded  lest  you  should  be 
hampered  by  that  oath  which  you  took  in  your  boyhood, 
and  which  I  well  knew  you  would  never  break ;  but  I 
dared  not  see  you  or  communicate  with  you.  Doreen 
will  explain  to  you  more  fully  than  I  can  all  that 
passed  between  us.  For  I  sent  for  her  one  night,  and, 
knowing  that  it  was  for  your  sake,  she  never  heeded  the 
strange  time  or  the  disreputable  place,  but  risked  all  and 
came." 

"It  was  you  she  went  to  see?"  cried  Max,  in  terrible 
agitation.  "  Yes,  yes,  I  see  it  all  now  —  miserable  fool  that 
I  was  to  doubt  her ! " 


DOREEN  479 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  groaned  so  bitterly 
that,  to  Miriam,  the  truth  was  instantly  revealed.  This, 
undoubtedly,  must  have  been  the  cause  of  the  abrupt  ending 
of  his  betrothal  with  Doreen. 

"  Max,"  she  said  quietly,  "  don't  be  so  miserable  about  it. 
There  is  time  for  you  to  set  matters  right." 

But  Max,  with  a  wild  look  in  his  eyes,  turned  fiercely 
upon  Desmond. 

"Why,  in  heaven's  name,  did  you  not  risk  sending  for 
me,  rather  than  expose  the  woman  I  loved  to  such  an 
ordeal  ?  AVhat  do  I  care  for  any  exposure  in  comparison 
with  the  suffering  —  the  torture  —  you  have  brought  to  her  ? 
And  your  plan  was  all  a  miserable  failure.  It  did  no  good 
—  no  good  whatever  !  " 

"  There  you  are  mistaken,"  said  Desmond.  "  Had  not 
Doreen  received  my  permission  to  reveal  the  truth  about 
Foxell's  death  to  the  authorities  if  ever  you  found  yourself 
in  difficulties,  you  would,  very  probably,  have  been  at  this 
moment  in  Kilmainham." 

"And  do  you  think,"  said  Max,  desperately,  "that  I 
would  not  rather  be  in  Kilmainham  than  in  this  hell  of 
pain  and  remorse  ?  But  I  am  wrong  —  you  meant  well  by 
us  —  you  tried  to  help  ;  it  was  my  own  hateful  distrust  that 
wrought  all  the  harm." 

"I  do  not  understand,"  said  Miriam,  her  beautiful  face 
curiously  softened  and  altered  by  all  that  she  had  passed 
through  in  the  last  hour.  "  What  could  you  reveal  about 
Mr.  Foxell's  death  ?  " 

And  then,  very  briefly,  the  dying  man  told  her  all  that 
had  passed  on  that  day  long  ago  at  Lough  Lee,  and  how  it 
had  seemed  impossible  to  own  the  truth  at  the  time ;  how 
his  very  love  for  her  had  led  him  to  keep  silence.  He  told, 
too,  how,  after  his  recovery,  the  wrongs  of  Ireland  had 
incessantly  preyed  upon  his  mind;  how  it  had  seemed  to 
him  that  the  slowly  moved  English  would  never  yield  to 
mere  constitutional  agitation,  and  that  by  violent  means 
only  could  the  cause  be  furthered.    He  told  them  of  Poreen's 


48o  DOREEN 

horror  when  she  had  learned  that  he  was  a  dynamiter ;  how 
she  had  implored  him  to  give  up  a  mode  of  working  which 
she  thought  fatal  to  her  country's  cause,  and  how  he  had 
made  her  realize  that  to  be  in  any  way  connected  with  him 
would  be  fatal  to  her  lover's  political  career. 

"Had  she  been  able  to  come  to-day,  I  should  not  have 
sent  for  you,  even  now,"  he  added,  turning  to  Max.  "  But 
no  one  here  is  aware  that  the  police  are  seeking  for  me, 
and  they  do  not  know  the  exact  cause  of  my  accident.  It 
will  never  transpire,  and  I  am  not  going  to  burden  you  with 
another  secret.  That  much  will  die  with  me  presently. 
But  lest  there  should  ever  be  any  further  trouble  with 
regard  to  the  other  affair,  I  have  written  here  a  confession 
of  my  share  in  the  Lough  Lee  disaster.  The  sister  and  the 
nurse  thought  they  were  witnessing  my  Avill  when  they 
signed  it;  but  here  it  is ;  I  give  it  to  your  keeping,  and  you 
can  do  what  you  deem  right  with  it.  I  shall  soon  be  beyond 
their  reach.  As  you  say,  I  have  miserably  failed,  and  I 
have  made  shipwreck  of  my  own  life.  It  may  be  that,  after 
all,  Doreen  was  right,  and  that  Ireland  will  be  saved,  not 
by  violence,  but  by  the  constitutional  agitation  which  your 
incessant  Coercion  Acts  make  well-nigh  impossible." 

They  lingered  with  him,  talking  quietly  on  less  moving 
topics  for  some  little  while,  and  then,  at  the  nurse's  sugges- 
tion, left  with  a  promise  to  return  early  the  next  day. 
Miriam,  as  she  walked  along  the  wide  corridors  to  the  main 
entrance,  felt  like  one  in  a  dream. 

"  Only  to  think,"  she  cried,  when  once  more  they  were  in 
the  brougham,  "that  all  these  terrible  troubles  were  sur- 
rounding me,  and  that  I  knew  nothing ;  but  just  lived  an 
easy,  selfish  life  !  I  hardly  wonder  that  the  horror  of  it  all 
has  half  maddened  John  Desmond ;  and.  Max,  I  am  glad, 
yes,  glad,  that  he  is  dying.  It  is  because  I  love  him  that  I 
am  glad." 

"We  must  see  your  father,"  said  Max.  "Those  were 
true  words  that  you  spoke  just  now,  but  we  can  hardly 
expect  my  uncle  to  understand  them," 


DO  KEEN  481 

"I  will  see  to  that,"  said  Miriam,  "and  you  need  not  be 
afraid  that  I  shall  consent  to  marry  Lord  Stoughton.  When 
I  think  of  that  great  hospital,  full  of  suffering  and  pain, 
it  seems  to  me  that  there  are  other  ways  in  which  I  may  be 
off  my  father's  hands  by  the  end  of  the  season.  I  may  be 
unfit  perhaps  for  any  very  difficult  work,  but  there  must 
be  hundreds  of  ways  in  which  a  woman  can  help,  if  she  is 
so  minded.  But  it  is  hateful  of  me  to  go  talking  of  my  own 
life  and  my  private  plaus,  when  all  this  long  time  Doreen 
has  been  suffering  so  dreadfully." 

"I  want  to  show  you  this,"  said  Max,  in  a  low  voice. 
"It  will  open  your  eyes  to  see  what  she  really  is,  as  it 
opened  mine.  I  found  it  just  now  in  the  safe  with  the 
diamonds,  where,  for  eleven  months,  it  has  lain  unread." 

Miriam  read  Doreen' s  letter  without  comment.  Then 
she  glanced  up  at  him,  her  eyes  bright  with  tears. 

"Just  tell  Balcombe  to  drive  to  Russell  Square,  will 
you?"  she  said;  then,  as  he  obeyed,  she  gave  him  back 
the  letter,  and  added,  "  I  will  put  you  down  at  the  corner, 
and  then  drive  home." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  grateful  for  her  silent  sympathy. 
"  I  want  to  inquire  how  Doreen  is." 

And  through  his  mind  there  floated  the  words  which  had 
haunted  him  all  the  afternoon,  "When  you  believe  in  me 
once  more,  then  come  back  and  let  us  talk  things  over 
quietly."  He  dared  not  expect  to  see  her,  but  he  would 
ask  if  she  were  better,  and  later  on  he  might  write  and  ask 
her  forgiveness. 

Taking  leave  of  Miriam,  he  walked  down  Bernard  Street, 
his  heart  sinking  terribly  when  he  saw  that  a  doctor's  car- 
riage was  waiting  at  Mr.  Garth's  door.  But  before  he 
had  reached  the  house,  he  saw,  approaching  him,  a  well- 
known  figure,  —  pretty  little  Una  Kingston,  with  her 
wistful  face,  and  her  wavy,  golden  hair.  A  pleasant-look- 
ing German  woman  walked  beside  her  and  seemed  to  be 
comforting  her.  He  caught  a  few  of  the  kindly  German 
words  of  consolation,  which  increased  his  anxiety. 


482  DOREEN 

"Una,"  he  said,  pausing  in  front  of  her,  "do  you  not 
remember  me  ?  " 

The  child  glanced  up  at  him  through  her  tears,  and  a 
wave  of  passionate  indignation  swept  over  her  face. 

"  Go  away  ! "  she  cried.  "  I  will  not  speak  to  you.  It  is 
your  fault  —  all  your  fault ! " 

"it/ei/i  liehes  KindV^  said  the  German  nurse,  remon- 
stratingly ;  then,  in  broken  English,  she  explained  to  Max 
that  her  little  mistress  was  in  great  trouble;  that  the 
doctors  were  very  anxious  about  Miss  O'Kyan. 

Una,  meantime,  had  recovered  herself,  and,  ashamed  of 
her  outburst  of  temper,  caught  Max  Hereford's  hand  in 
hers,  and  drew  him  on  so  that  they  could  talk  without 
being  overheard  by  her  nurse. 

"I  was  wrong  to  be  angry,"  she  faltered.  "But  they 
think  Doreen  will  not  get  well,  and  her  voice  is  gone  — 
quite,  quite  gone!  How  can  she  even  wish  to  go  on 
living?" 

She  felt  her  companion  stagger  as  he  walked,  and,  glanc- 
ing up  at  him,  was  frightened  to  see  the  ghastly  pallor  of 
his  face.  Her  womanly  instincts  and  her  childish  audacity 
prompted  her  instantly  to  speak  out  the  thought  that  darted 
into  her  mind. 

"You  still  love  her;  I  know  you  still  love  her.  And 
then  all  will  be  right.  She  will  want  to  live  for  you.  Oh, 
go  to  her  now,  and  don't  let  her  have  one  minute  more  of 
suifering." 

Without  speaking  a  word,  he  pressed  her  hand,  and  turned 
back.  On  the  doorstep  he  encountered  Brian  Osmond,  who 
was  just  leaving  the  house.  He  drew  himself  together, 
and  assuming,  for  protection,  a  somewhat  frigid  manner, 
inquired  how  Doreen  was.  Brian  Osmond,  for  a  moment, 
misunderstood  him.  The  conventional  words  and  tone 
jarred  upon  the  young  doctor,  and  he  responded  brusquely, 
knowing  perfectly  well  that  in  the  hands  of  this  faultlessly 
mannered,  well-appointed,  fine-looking  man  lay  the  fate  of 
his  patient. 


DOREEN  4S3 

"  I  fear  she  is  not  likely  to  recover,"  he  said ;  then,  as 
Max,  still  preserving  a  ghastly  composure,  inquired  the 
cause  of  her  illness,  he  added,  curtly,  "She  is  dying  of 
what  the  world  calls  a  broken  heart,  and  what  we  doctors 
call  shock  to  the  system.'^ 

Then,  instantly,  he  knew  that  he  had  been  deceived; 
the  conventional  tone  was  merely  the  armour  in  which  a 
man  of  the  world  learns  to  encase  himself,  and  it  was  not 
proof  against  the  terrible  statement  he  had  hurled  against 
it.  He  had  seen  many  people  in  moments  of  exquisite 
pain,  but  he  had  never  before  witnessed  such  mental  agony 
as  he  saw  reflected  now  in  the  face  of  Max  Hereford. 
Instinctively  he  grasped  his  hand. 

"I  think,''  he  said,  "that  much  still  remains  in  your 
power,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  speak  thus  plainly." 

Max  scarcely  heard  him,  but  the  grip  of  the  hand  reached 
him,  and  carried  his  mind  back  to  Una's  hand-clasp  and  to 
her  eager  words:  "Oh,  go  to  her  now;  don't  let  her  have 
one  minute  more  of  suffering." 

"Do  you  think,"  he  asked,  "that  she  would  see  me? 
Would  it  hurt  her  to  talk  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Brian  Osmond ;  "  it  would  do  her  good.  You 
must  be  prepared  to  find,  though,  that  she  can  only  speak  in 
a  whisper,  but  it  will  not  do  her  any  harm.  What  makes 
us  anxious  is  her  utter  failure  of  strength,  —  she  has  lost  all 
wish  to  live.  I  fancy  for  the  last  year  nothing  but  her 
hopes  for  Ireland  kept  her  going,  and  now  that  reform 
seems  more  than  ever  distant  she  has  suddenly  broken 
down.  There  is  little  Mollie  watching  us  from  the  window. 
I  will  beckon  to  her  and  she  will  take  you  upstairs.  Good- 
bye." 

He  stepped  into  his  carriage  and  drove  off  just  as  the 
front  door  oi>ened,  and  blue-eyed  Mollie,  with  her  radiant 
face,  sprang  up  to  greet  Max. 

"  Oh,  Max !  Max  !  is  it  really  you  ?  "  she  cried  gleefully, 
drawing  him  into  the  hall  and  clinging  about  his  neck. 
"  Doreen  will  get  well  now  you've  come  back,  I  know  she 

og2 


484  DOREEN 

will !  And  do  you  know  ever  since  she  went  to  prison 
Bride  and  me  have  had  a  great  secret, — we  asked  God  every 
morning  to  send  you  back  to  us,  and  now  here  you  are ! 
Isn't  it  good  of  Him  to  answer  just  two  little  children  like 
us  that  hardly  know  Him  a  bit  ?  Max,  have  I  grown  too 
heavy  for  you  to  carry  upstairs  ?  Why  do  you  sigh  so 
dreadfully?'' 

He  bent  his  head  and  kissed  her. 

"  Is  she  here  in  the  drawing-room  ?  "  he  said.  "  You 
knock  at  the  door." 

"  Well,"  said  discreet  Mollie,  "  I'll  just  knock  and  take 
you  in  and  then  I'll  run  away  ;  for  you  know  Doreen  always 
did  like  to  have  you  all  alone." 

Doreen  was  lying  on  the  sofa ;  she  did  not  attempt  to  get 
up  when  Mollie  made  her  astonishing  announcement,  but 
into  her  white  face  there  stole  a  tinge  of  colour  that  seemed 
only  to  add  to  its  sadly  delicate  look. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said,  summoning  up  all 
her  courage  and  talking  continuously,  because  she  knew 
what  a  shock  her  toneless  whisper  would  at  first  give  him, 
and  how  difficult  he  would  find  it  to  respond.  "  But  I  see 
you  have  been  having  hard  work  in  the  House,  for  you  look 
tired  out.  Mollie,  mavourneen,  run  and  ask  Hagar  for  a 
cup  of  tea,  not  just  a  little  small  five  o'clock  one,  but  a 
large  one,  —  my  bread-and-milk  cup,  —  that's  more  the  size 
for  an  overworked  M.P." 

The  little  girl  ran  away,  and  Max  seemed  struggling  to 
speak,  but  could  not.  Doreen  saw  how  terribly  he  was 
agitated  and  she  went  on  talking. 

"  You'll  find  it  very  hard  indeed  to  keep  up  a  conversa- 
tion with  me,"  she  said,  smiling.  "People  first  whisper, 
and  then  shout  as  though  I  were  deaf  as  well  as  voiceless. 
It  would  be  very  amusing  if  one  were  not  so  dreadfully 
tired.  But  I  have  not  half  told  you  what  a  delight  it  was 
to  me  to  hear  you  speak  for  Ireland  the  other  night." 

"  Doreen ! "  he  said,  breaking  in  passionately,  "they  tell'me 
that  on  that  very  night  you  heard  a  rumour  that  Miriam 


DOREEN'  485 

and  I  were  to  be  married,  and  indeed  it  was  her  fatlier's 
great  wish.  But  there  never  was  any  true  love  between  us, 
and  all  notion  of  any  yielding  to  the  General's  wish  is  over. 
Miriam  understands  that  I  love  you  ;  just  now  at  John 
Desmond's  death-bed  I  think  we  both  of  us  had  much 
revealed.  Long  ago  I  knew  that  I  must  have  misjudged 
you,  but  your  letter  only  reached  me  to-day ;  and  when  in 
Dublin,  after  my  illness,  I  was  actually  starting  to  come  to 
you,  feeling  certain  that  it  was  only  some  misunderstanding 
that  had  parted  us,  I  was  arrested.  And  then  the  devil 
entered  into  me,  and  I  thought  that  just  by  careless  talk 
you  had  betrayed  me  and  broken  your  oath,  never  dream- 
ing that  Baptiste  had  learnt  something  of  the  truth,  and 
that  my  own  hasty  dismissal  —  my  own  vile  temper  —  was 
at  the  root  of  the  trouble.  When  you  came  to  Kilmain- 
ham  pride  kept  me  from  seeing  you,  though  it  half  killed 
me  to  refuse  ;  and  so  things  went  on  from  bad  to  worse  till 
1  lost  all  heart.  Then  the  news  of  your  arrest  came  and 
that  drew  me  back,  thank  God ;  and  the  other  night  when 
once  more  I  was  wavering  your  ^  God  save  Ireland '  saved 
me.  You  made  me  feel  that,  like  Pilate,  I  had  made  two 
or  three  efforts  to  help,  and  then  was  about  to  wash  my 
hands  of  Irish  affairs  and  give  in  to  the  howling  wolves 
who  cried  out  for  national  revenge.  But  you  saved  me  from 
doing  that.  Had  it  not  been  for  you,  I  could  never  have 
spoken  the  other  night." 

Her  star-like  eyes  rested  searchingly,  but  tenderly,  upon 
him  as  he  spoke. 

"Come  nearer,  Max,"  she  said.  "I  feel  afraid  when 
there  is  all  that  space  between  us.  It  makes  me  think  of 
that  horrible  day  last  summer  when  you  thou'ght  I  had  been 
false  to  you."  Her  cheeks  burned  at  the  mere  remem- 
brance. 

Choking  back  a  sob  in  his  throat.  Max  knelt  beside  her. 

"Darling,  can  you  ever  forgive  me?"  he  faltered. 

"  You  have  kept  me  eleven  months  waiting  for  my  answer 
to  that  same  question,"  said  Doreen,  smiling  through  her 


4S6  DOREESf 

tears.  ^'And  now  I  am  tired  of  talking.  Let  us  'kiss 
and  be  friends/  as  the  children  say,  when  they  have  quar- 
relled." 

There  followed  a  happy,  timeless  interval,  which,  by  its 
sweetness,  made  up  for  all  the  suffering  of  the  past.  It 
was  broken  at  length  by  MoUie's  discreet  knock  at  the 
door. 

"  Please  open  it,"  said  the  clear  little  voice.  "  My  hands 
are  full "  ;  and  as  Max  obeyed,  in  walked  the  little  girl,  as 
usual  talking  as  fast  as  her  tongue  could  fly.  "I'm  sorry 
it's  been  so  long ;  I  thought  the  kettle  never  would  boil. 
Hagar  says  there's  two  things  you  never  can  hurry  up,  how- 
ever much  you  wish  it,  and  one's  boiling  kettles,  and  the 
other's  love.  She  says  both's  bound  to  come  right  if  only 
we  wait  long  enough." 

They  laughed ;  but  when  once  more  alone,  Doreen's  face 
grew  sad. 

"  Hagar  is  a  shrewd  woman,"  she  said.  "  But  the  com- 
ing right  is  not  always  in  this  world.  Think  of  Miriam  and 
of  Mr.  Desmond.  He  is  dying,  and  all  his  life  has  been 
marred  by  that  one  day  at  Lough  Lee.  At  first,  when  he 
told  me  that  he  belonged  to  the  dynamite  faction,  I  almost 
hated  him ;  but  since  I  have  had  time  to  think  more,  and 
since  I  have  been  so  very  unhappy,  I  have  learned  to  judge 
people  less  harshly.  You  know,  in  America,  he  fell  under 
the  influence  of  one  of  the  most  cruelly  treated  of  the  Fen- 
ians', the  man  you  English  kept  with  his  hands  chained 
behind  his  back,  day  and  night,  for  a  month.  I  am  not 
exonerating  him.  There  must  be  discipline  in  prisons,  but 
that  was  sheer  brutal  cruelty,  not  punishment.  There  are 
not  many  Donal  Moores  in  the  world,  who  come  out  of 
penal  servitude  more  noble,  more  Christ-like,  more  eager  to 
work  for  the  good  of  others.  There  was  little  enough  to 
complain  of  in  the  way  you  and  I  were  treated  during  our 
short  imprisonment,  yet  think  how  maddening  the  mere  loss 
of  liberty  was  —  how  endless  the  days  seemed!" 

"  I  know  that  the  days  at  Biarritz  seemed  endless  to  me," 


DOREEl^  4S7 

said  Max,  "when  I  could  learn  nothing  about  j'ou,  save 
wretched  little  gossiping  paragraphs  in  the  papers.  I 
remember  one  of  them  said  that  you  were  suffering  from  a 
severe  cold,  and  that,  like  St.  Martin,  you  had  given  your 
cloak  to  a  beggar.     Was  that  true  ?  " 

"It  was  not  to  a  beggar,  but  to  the  poor  woman  who  was 
evicted  while  she  was  dying.  I  wonder  what  became  of 
the  cloak  afterwards !  It  was  the  one  I  had  at  the  Firdale 
election." 

"  Did  the  woman  really  die  ?  "  asked  Max. 

"Yes;  but  the  priest  came  just  in  time  —  I  was  so  glad 
of  that,"  said  Doreen.  "  I  wondered  so  in  prison  what  had 
happened,  and  only  heard  afterwards.  That  was  the  hard- 
est part,  —  to  be  forced  to  do  nothing  just  when  I  had  wit- 
nessed that  heart-breaking  scene.  Oh !  if  the  English  elec- 
tors could  only  realize  the  state  of  things,  they  would  never 
rest  till  the  hideous  wrong  was  righted.  But  in  some  ways, 
Max,  I  do  think  English  people  are  puzzling ;  they  go  frantic 
over  the  reluctance  of  Jumbo  to  get  into  the  van  that  was 
to  take  him  to  America,  and  yet  their  one  idea  of  a  remedy 
for  Ireland  is  to  clear  the  country,  to  force  the  Irish  to 
emigrate.  I  wonder  how  many  of  them  have  seen  an  emi- 
grant ship,  and  the  bitter  grief  of  those  who  are  torn  from 
their  land  ?  I  wonder  if  they  understand  how  terrible  it 
is  to  live  in  exile,  as  we  were  forced  to  do  ?  " 

Then  Max  began  to  weave  plans  for  the  future,  and  to 
talk  of  an  Irish  home,  and  of  the  work  which  together  they 
might  share. 

"I  don't  know,  after  all,  whether  I  ought  to  let  you 
marry  a  broken-down  vocalist,"  whispered  Doreen,  her  eyes 
filling  with  tears.  "You  have  witched  me  back  to  life. 
Max,  for  in  truth,  yesterday,  when  I  plainly  saw  that  the 
doctors  did  not  expect  my  voice  to  return,  I  prayed  that 
God  would  let  me  die.  Oh,  you'll  never  know  what  it  was 
to  wake  in  the  morning  and  to  find  it  gone  —  absolutely 
gone  like  this ! " 

"  And  it  is  my  fault,"  said  Max,  with  a  groan. 


4S8  DOREEJV 

"No,  no  ! "  she  said ;  "  I  will  not  let  you  say  that.  Many 
tilings  had  led  up  to  it.  They  say  that  bad  cold  which  I 
caught  on  the  day  of  my  arrest  started  the  mischief,  and 
then  the  frightful  shock  of  hearing  the  news  from  Ireland 
on  that  dreadful  Sunday.  If  Carlo  Donati  and  his  wife 
had  not  been  here  with  me,  I  think  I  should  have  died. 
They  were  so  good !  I  can  never  tell  you  how  they  helped 
me.  But  my  voice  went  for  a  time  that  morning,  and  all 
through  May  it  was  troublesome  and  uncertain.  They 
think  my  speaking  voice  will  return  in  time,  you  know." 

"  And  they  surely  cannot  tell  that  you  will  not  be  able  to 
sing,"  said  Max;  "  there  must,  at  least,  be  room  for  hope." 

"  We  will  hope,  darling,  but  we  won't  expect,"  she  said ; 
"  and  I  shall  like  to  think  that  my  last  song  was  '  God  save 
Ireland!'  and  that  for  once  in  my  life  I  had  the  bliss 
of  singing  that  lovely  'Barcarola'  with  Carlo  Donati.  Oh, 
Max,  he  and  his  wife  will  be  so  glad  to  hear  that  our 
troubles  are  at  an  end !  And  the  Farrants,  too,  they  have 
been  so  kind  to  me  ! " 

"  But  it  is,  after  all,  to  little  Una  that  I  owe  you,"  said 
Max.  "Who  would  have  dreamt  that  that  shy  little  girl 
would  have  had  the  courage  to  speak  out  so  boldly?  I 
should  never  have  dared  to  ask  to  see  you  had  it  not 
been  for  her  words.  How  you  have  made  that  child  love 
you,  Doreen ! " 

"  Don't  put  it  like  that,"  she  said,  smiling,  as  she  pressed 
her  face  to  his.  "  Say,  rather,  ^  How  thankful  you  ought  to 
be,  Doreen,  to  have  such  a  wealth  of  love  laid  at  your 
feet!'" 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

"One  great  fact  rises  distinctly,  star-like,  out  of  all  the  confusion 
and  passion  and  heart-burning  and  heart-uplifting  of  that  memorable 
day  —  the  fact  that  a  great  English  minister,  the  foremost  and  most 
famous  statesman  of  his  age,  has  recognized,  speaking  to  an  attentive 
Senate,  to  an  attentive  nation,  to  an  attentive  world,  the  right  of 
the  Irish  people  to  self-government.  That  great  historic  fact  is  at 
once  the  triumph  and  the  justification  of  an  oppressed  but  an  uncon- 
quered  nationality.  .  .  .  With  [this]  recognition  ...  of  the  justice 
of  Ireland's  appeal,  and  the  righteousness  of  her  cause,  the  whole 
aspect  of  the  longest  political  struggle  in  history  changes.  A  vast  pro- 
portion of  the  English  people  are  henceforward  in  sympathy  with  the 
Irish  people.  All  those  who  are  most  closely  identified  with  the 
cause  of  progress,  the  love  of  liberty,  and  the  interests  of  civilization 
are  eager  to  allow  to  Ireland  the  right  to  manage  Irish  affairs  accord- 
ing to  Irish  ideas.  This  is  a  great  triumph  for  Ireland  and  England 
alike.  England,  no  less  than  Ireland,  should  be  eternally  grateful  to 
the  great  statesman  who  has  undone  so  much  evil,  who  has  healed  so 
great  a  hurt,  who  has  atoned  for  so  much  injustice,  who  has  united 
two  hostile  nationalities,  and  has,  while  freeing  Ireland  from  her 
unhappy  servitude,  strengthened  the  empire  which  it  is  his  duty  to 
serve." — Justin  Huntley  McCarthy,  1886. 

Max  had  often  occasion,  in  after  days,  to  think  of  those 
passionate  prayers  of  his  childhood  for  the  return  of  his 
mother's  canary,  which,  in  a  fit  of  temper,  he  had  let  out 
of  its  cage.  All  that  the  most  skilful  physicians  in  Lon- 
don could  do  to  restore  Doreen's  voice  proved  useless.  The 
speaking  voice  returned,  it  is  true,  weaker  than  it  had  been, 
and  wholly  without  that  ringing  tone  which  had  made  it 
such  a  delight  to  listen  to ;  but  the  singing  voice,  that  had 

489 


490  .    DOREEN 

entranced  thousands,  was  irrevocably  gone,  and  for  the  rest 
of  her  life  Doreen  was  forced  to 

"  Stand  as  mute 
As  one  with  full,  strong  music  in  his  heart, 
Whose  fingers  stray  upon  a  shattered  lute." 

What  the  loss  was  to  her,  none  save  the  members  of  her 
own  profession  and  her  husband  could  in  the  least  under- 
stand. Perhaps  Donal  Moore,  being  made  wise  through 
much  personal  suffering,  was  able  in  a  measure  to  guess 
how  sorely  such  a  gift  would  be  missed,  and  how  to  the 
singer  the  whole  world  would  seem  strange  and  blank. 

"  'Tis  not  every  patriot  who  can  so  clearly  see  how  his 
own  loss  is  his  country's  gain,"  he  said  to  her  one  day. 
^'  You  have  lost  your  voice,  Doreen,  but  you  have  won  for 
Ireland,  as  no  one  else  could  have  won,  your  husband's 
lifelong  devotion." 

The  words  were  spoken  when  he  was  paying  them  a  visit 
in  their  quiet,  unostentatious  home  in  County  Wicklow. 
Whenever  Max  was  not  kept  in  London  by  his  parliamen- 
tary duties,  they  lived  among  those  gorse-covered  mountains 
that  had  been  so  dear  to  Doreen  in  her  childhood.  And 
the  country  people  said  of  them,  in  the  sweet  old  Irish 
phrase,  that  they  were  "  God's  own  people." 

Poor  General  Hereford  had  a  series  of  unpleasant  shocks. 
First  he  had  to  become  accustomed  to  the  idea  that  Max 
was  not  to  be  his  son-in-law  after  all.  Then  he  had  to  con- 
sent to  Miriam's  determination  to  learn  something  of  sick- 
nursing,  and  to  listen,  with  indignant  astonishment,  to  her 
plain  avowal  that  the  only  man  she  had  ever  cared  for  had 
been  a  penniless  tutor,  who  was  now  dead,  and  that  not  for 
all  the  riches  in  the  world  would  she  marry  her  admirer. 
Lord  Stoughton.  Lastly,  he  had  the  severe  trial  of  seeing 
Max  actually  renounce  the  whole  of  the  Monkton  Verney 
estate.  All  in  a  minute,  as  it  seemed  to  the  irate  old  man, 
this  quixotic  nephew  of  his  decided  that,  although  the  land 
h^-d  been  bought  by  his  own  father,  it  had  belonged  origi- 


DOREEN  491 

nally  totxod,  and  he  gave  it  back  now  for  the  use  of  God's 
poor.  The  scheme  for  using  the  old  ruins  fell  through, 
much  to  Claude  Magnay's  satisfaction.  That  part  of  the 
land  lay  low,  and  was  near  the  lake.  So  the  ruined  Priory 
remained  to  gladden  the  eyes  of  the  artistic.  But  the 
large,  modern  house,  with  all  its  comfortable  arrangements, 
was  admirably  adapted  to  the  somewhat  unconventional 
Convalescent  Home  and  shelter  for  the  destitute,  which  Max 
Hereford  devoted  it  to.  An  old  friend  of  Carlo  Donati's, 
Miss  Clare mont,  undertook  the  management  of  the  place ; 
and  the  General  found  one  sweet  drop  in  his  cup  of  bitter- 
ness ;  for  Miriam  was  the  nominal  head  of  the  house,  and 
so,  after  all,  was  fated  to  be  mistress  of  Monkton  Yerney. 

"  I  am  the  first  prioress,"  she  said  gaily,  when,  one  April 
Saturday,  Max  and  Doreen  and  several  friends  had  come 
down  from  London  to  take  part  in  some  special  festivity. 
"There  were  priors  in  former  days,  but  the  old  order 
changes,  and  now,  as  every  one  knows,  women  are  to  have 
their  turn.     Monkton  Verney  leads  the  van." 

She  made  a  very  charming  prioress,  and  Claude  Magnay 
and  his  wife  agreed  that  Miriam  had  found  her  vocation. 

"She  would  never  have  done  as  a  regular  sister  in  those 
frightful  black  clothes,"  said  Esperance,  smiling.  "But  in 
every-day  dress,  and  with  such  a  fellow-worker  as  Miss 
Claremont,  and  in  an  easy  Convalescent  Home  like  this, 
where  they  have  few  rules  and  regulations,  Miriam  is  quite 
in  her  element  and  ever  so  much  happier  than  she  was  in 
her  London  life." 

"I  am  glad  the  Worthingtons  could  come  to-day,"  said 
Claude.  "  To  tell  the  truth,  I  was  a  little  afraid  that,  in 
the  present  burning  stage  of  the  Home-Rule  question,  Lady 
Worthington  might  have  refused ;  but  she  is  too  genuinely 
fond  of  them.  Why,  just  look ;  there  she  is  walking  most 
amicably  with  Donal  Moore !  Do  you  think  he  is  talking 
politics  ?     Yes  ;  listen  ! " 

"  But,"  pleaded  the  Kelt,  in  his  winning  voice,  "  the  land 
restoration  of  which  you  approve  in  a  special  instance  lik^ 


492  DOREEN 

this  is  very  much  what  we  Land  Leaguers  have  been 
striving  for  in  Ireland." 

"  And  you  would  ruin  the  present  landlords,"  said  Lady 
Worthington ;  "  would  drive  them  out  of  the  country." 

"Not  at  all/'  said  Donal  Moore,  eagerly.  "Let  them 
remain  by  all  means,  if  they  wish  to  do  so.  They  would 
not  be  ruined.  They  would  be  bought  out;  the  compensa- 
tion would  be  ample.  All  we  want  is  that,  as  in  the  old 
days,  the  land  should  belong  to  the  Irish  people.  Then, 
the  State  having  put  as  low  a  rent  as  possible  on  agricul- 
tural land,  cultivation  would  be  encouraged,  and  the  people, 
instead  of  being  forced,  as  they  are  now  in  Ireland,  to 
starve  or  to  emigrate  (with  you  here  in  England  they  have 
to  starve  or  crowd  into  the  manufacturing  towns),  would 
use  the  land,  as  God  meant  it  to  be  used,  for  the  application 
of  labour,  not  as  something  out  of  which  rent  must  be 
extracted  to  support  an  idle  landlord." 

"  Do  you  think  Lady  Worthington  will  ever  come  round 
to  anything  that  involves  a  radical  change  in  the  Land 
Laws,  even  one  that  included  the  compensation  of  the 
present  owners  ?  "  said  Esperance.  "  I  have  tried  often  to 
make  her  see  how  well  our  French  system  works." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Claude  Magnay ;  "  but  if  any  one 
can  persuade  the  English,  I  think  it  will  be  Donal  Moore ; 
for  a  man  more  absolutely  true  and  good  I  never  met.  Do 
you  notice,  by  the  bye,  how  every  one  calls  him  by  his 
Christian  name  ?  Like  Charles  Lamb,  there's  something 
lovable  about  him  that  makes  it  a  necessity." 

Meantime,  among  the  gray  old  ruins,  Max  and  his  wife 
lingered,  talking  happily  of  the  dawn  that  had  come  to 
cheer  the  hearts  of  all  who  loved  Ireland.  At  their  feet, 
intent  on  picking  daisies,  was  a  baby  girl  of  two  and  a 
half,  in  whose  sunny  face  it  was  easy  to  see  the  father's 
colouring,  and  the  mother's  Irish  blue  eyes. 

"  This  is  what  we  should  call  '  a  pet  day '  in  Ireland," 
said  Doreen,  looking  at  the  clear,  blue  sky,  and  at  the 
fleecy,  white  clouds,  and  at  the  budding  trees,  lightly  stirred 


DOREEN  493 

by  the  soft  air.  "  How  glad  I  am  that  we  can  see  this  dear 
old  place  at  its  best.  It  reminds  me  of  that  day  ten  years 
ago,  when  we  came  here  to  escape  from  General  Hereford, 
—  that  time,  you  know,  when  we  were  not  even  exactly 
engaged." 

"The  very  day  that  I  lost  my  temper  and  dismissed 
Baptiste,"  said  Max.  "  If  you  could  have  foreseen  all  the 
trouble  I  should  bring  you,  darling,  I  am  afraid  you  would 
never  have  held  out  that  hope  to  me  on  Rooksbury." 

"  Should  I  not  ?  "  said  Doreen,  with  a  little  tender  caress. 
"  Is  that  all  you  know  about  it,  asthore  ?  Listen,  there  is 
baby  singing  to  her  daisies !  What  a  clear  little  voice  she 
has.  I  can't  say  much  for  her  musical  taste,  though ;  she 
seldom  treats  us  to  anything  more  classical  than  ^  Wait 
till  the  clouds  roll  by.'  " 

"Well,  that's  the  best  popular  song  we  Have  had  for 
some  time,"  said  Max ;  and,  indeed,  the  pathetic  air  sounded 
pretty  enough,  as  the  baby  voice  chanted  it,  specially  when 
MoUie  and  Bride,  the  two  youthful  little  aunts,  joined  in 
the  chorus.  It  was  a  pretty  sight,  too,  to  watch  the  children 
as  they  played  in  the  ivy-covered  ruins,  and  Doreen's  sweet 
face  had  a  look  of  rest  and  serenity  which  had  been  absent 
from  the  face  of  the  girl  Doreen,  who,  ten  years  ago,  had 
talked  with  her  lover  in  that  same  sheltered  nook. 

"  My  ears  are  still  ringing,"  she  said,  "  with  the  wonder- 
ful words  we  listened  to  last  Thursday.  You  can't  think 
what  it  was,  Max,  to  sit  in  that  same  gallery  where  I  had 
once  suffered  so  horribly,  and  to  hear  the  Prime  Minister 
pleading  for  justice  for  Ireland.  We  ought  to  be  better  all 
our  lives  just  for  hearing  that  noble  speech." 

"  Yes,"  said  Max,  thoughtfully.  "It  is  something  to  have 
lived  for.  The  nineteenth  century  has  witnessed  no  greater 
scene ;  it  was  the  recognition  by  the  noblest  of  living 
statesmen  that  God  will  not  permit  England  to  oppress  and 
drive  out  a  nation,  and  then  to  plead  expediency ;  it  was 
the  public  recognition  that  the  Irish  have  the  right  to  make 
their  own  laws.  It  was  very  proper  that  my  Day  Star  was 
looking  down  on  it  all,"  he  added,  stooping  to  kiss  her, 


494  DOREEN' 

"  It  feels  to-day  as  if  already  the  clouds  had  rolled  by," 
said  Doreen.  "One  can  bear  to  think  of  Irish  wrongs, 
because  now  they  must  soon  be  righted." 

"  The  hopelessness  is  gone,"  said  Max ;  "  but  before 
Home  Rule  is  won  there  is  a  very  bitter  struggle  still 
before  us,  darling.  Depend  upon  it,  hatred,  malice,  slander, 
and  prejudice  will  do  their  very  worst.  Oar  leader  will 
not,  just  at  first,  find  the  majority  of  Englishmen  as  brave, 
as  open-minded,  as  disinterested  as  himself.  Pope  says  a 
man  should  never  be  ashamed  to  own  that  he  has  been  iu 
the  wrong,  which  is  but  saying  that  he  is  wiser  to-day  than 
he  was  yesterday ;  but  it  takes  a  great  mind  to  do  it,  and 
most  of  us  have  narrow  minds." 

"  I  know,"  said  Doreen,  "  that  the  battle  is  not  yet  over, 
and  that  there  will  be  a  great  call  for  patience  and  for  sup- 
pression of  our  Irish  party  differences,  for  the  sake  of  the 
great  national  question.  But  since  the  Prime  Minister 
spoke  last  Thursday,  it  has  ceased  to  be  a  question  of  the 
Irish  against  the  English ;  we  are  joined  now  with  all  true 
lovers  of  freedom  and  justice;  and,  as  Donal  Moore  is 
always  saying,  we  are  really  furthering  the  cause  of  the 
oppressed  of  Great  Britain,  as  well  as  the  oppressed  of  Ire- 
land. Sometimes  I  think,  Max,  that  history  is  going  to 
repeat  itself,  and  that  Ireland  is  to  be  rewarded  for  all  her 
centuries  of  suffering  by  being  allowed  once  more  to  be  the 
missionary  nation,  and  to  carry  the  good  tidings  to  other 
countries — the  tidings  that  the  rich  are  no  longer  to  live  in 
idleness  on  the  toil  of  the  poor,  the  good  news  that  the 
earth  is  the  Lord's  and  not  the  landlord's." 

"  Do  you  see  that  Michael  and  Una  are  beginning  to  find 
that  Monkton  Verney  is  enchanted  ground?"  said  Max, 
with  a  smile,  as  through  the  broken  archway  they  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  young  engineer  and  the  pretty  violinist,  who, 
at  seventeen,  seemed  to  be  winning  the  happiness  of  which 
she  had  known  so  little  as  a  child. 

"It  is  no  surprise  to  me,"  said  Doreen.  "And  I  have 
given  Michael  no  end  of  elder-sisterly  advice.     He  is  going 


DOREEN  495 

to  follow  my  line,  and  not  to  think  of  any  engagement  as 
yet.  But  I  can't  see  why  they  should  not  have  the  comfort 
of  understanding  each  other,  and  of  writing.  Michael  quite 
agrees  that  they  ought  not  to  marry  yet  awhile." 

"  And  what  about  the  difference  in  their  religious  opin- 
ions?" 

"Well,  that  can't  be  helped,"  said  Doreen.  "Theoreti- 
cally mixed  marriages  are  a  mistake ;  but  perhaps  I,  who 
have  seen  the  perfect  happiness  of  a  father  and  mother, 
who,  like  these  two,  differed  on  many  important  points,  do 
not  think  it  so  very  great  an  objection.  Differences  are 
against  one's  ideal;  but  there's  something  better  than  uni- 
formity—  there's  the  unity  that  comes  from  Christ's  spirit 
of  love  in  our  hearts,  and  it's  given  to  Catholics  and  to 
Protestants  alike  if  they  follow  Him." 

"  You  are  quite  right,  darling,"  said  Max,  a  thoughtful 
look  lighting  up  his  face,  which  in  the  last  few  years  had 
gained  so  much  in  strength  and  manliness.  "  It  is  not  by 
fierce  denunciations  of  other  folks'  religious  views,  or  by 
selfish  fear  lest  Ireland  should  retaliate  for  our  past  per- 
secutions, that  we  follow  Christ  or  help  His  cause.  The 
only  things  He  ever  did  denounce  were  hypocrisy,  indiffer- 
ence, and  oppression.  Here  comes  Dermot  with  his  note- 
book." 

"  I  want  to  know  what  is  the  real  true  name  of  this  Conva- 
lescent Home,"  said  the  family  journalist,  who,  at  the  age 
of  fifteen,  had  the  proud  privilege  of  styling  himself  "  Lon- 
don correspondent  to  the  '  Glenbride  Examiner.'  "  "  I  can't 
get  any  sense  at  all  out  of  Miss  Hereford.  She  will  only 
declare  that  I  must  put  her  in  print  as  the  first  prioress, 
and  she  protests  that  the  Home  resembles  nothing  so  much 
as  the  Cave  of  AduUam." 

Max  and  his  wife  laughed. 

"  People  can  call  it  whatever  they  please,"  said  Doreen, 
with  a  mischievous  look  in  her  blue  eyes.  "  The  prioress 
may  call  it  the  '  Cave  of  Adullam,'  and  the  General,  I  am 
told,  calls  it  *  Hereford's  Folly,'  but  Max  and  I  have  a  par- 


496  DOREEN' 

ticular  name  of  our  own  for  it  that  we  keep  for  our  private 
use,  and  I  shan't  tell  it  even  to  you,  dear  boy,  though  you  are 
the  very  nicest,  as  well  as  the  youngest,  representative  of 
the  press  I  ever  saw.  You  can  mention  instead,  if  you  like, 
that  the  infant  daughter  of  the  member  for  Firdale  pre- 
sented floral  offerings,  all  round,  with  delightful  impartial- 
ity, to  people  of  every  nationality  and  every  shade  of 
opinion." 

"  And  that  she  wound  up,"  said  Dermot,  lifting  the  little 
maid  on  to  his  shoulder,  till  her  grannie  bonnet  towered 
above  the  heads  of  all  present,  "  by  proving  herself  a  true 
descendant  of  the  O'Ryans,  and  giving  three  cheers  for 
Ireland.  Come,  baby !  Show  them  that  you  have  voice 
enough  to  fill  the  Albert  Hall ! 

"  *  Here's  loved  old  Ireland, 
Good  old  Ireland, 
Ireland,  boys,  hurrah  ! '  " 


THE  END. 


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"  One  of  the  best  novels  since  '  Lorna  Doone.'  It  will  be  read  and  then  re-read  for  the 
mere  pleasure  its  reading  gives.  The  subtle  charm  of  it  is  not  in  merely  transporting  the 
nmeteenth-century  reader  to  the  sixteenth,  that  he  may  see  life  as  it  was  then,  but  in  trans- 
f.jrming  him  into  a  sixteenth-century  man,  thinking  its  thoughts,  and  living  its  life  in  perfect 
touch  and  sympathy  ...  it  carries  the  reader  out  of  his  present  life,  giving  him  a  new 
and  totally  different  existence  that  rests  and  refreshes  him." — N.  Y.  World. 

"  No  novelist  outside  of  France  has  displayed  a  more  definite  comprehension  of  the  very 
essence  of  mediaeval  French  life,  and  no  one,  certainly,  has  been  able  to  set  forth  a  depiction 
of  it  ill  colors  so  vivid  and  so  entirely  in  consonance  with  the  truth.  .  .  .  The  characters 
in  the  tale  are  admirably  drawn,  and  the  narrative  is  nothing  less  than  fascinating  in  its  fine 
flavor  of  adventure." — Beacon,  Boston. 

"  We  hardly  know  whether  to  call  this  latest  work  of  Stanley  J.  Weyman  a  historical 
lomance  or  a  story  of  adventure.  It  has  all  the  interesting,  fascinating  and  thrilling  charac- 
teristics of  boih.  The  scene  is  in  France,  and  the  time  is  that  fateful  eventful  one  wliich 
culminated  in  Henry  of  Navarre  becomina;  king.  Naturally  it  is  a  story  of  plots  and  intrigue, 
of  danger  and  of  the  grand  passion,  abounding  in  intense  dramatic  scenes  and  most  inierest- 
jng  situations.     It  is  a  romance  which  will  rank  among  the  masterpieces  of  historic  fiction."* 

— Advertiser,  Boston. 

"  A  romance  after  the  style  of  Dumas  the  elder,  and  well  worthy  of  being  read  by  those 
who  ran  enjoy  stirring  adventures  told  in  true  romantic  fashion.  .  .  .  The  great  person- 
ages of  the  lime — Henry  111.  of  Valois,  Henry  IV.,  Rosny,  Rambouillet,  Turenne — are 
brought  in  skillfully,  and  the  tragic  and  varied  history  of  the  time  forms  a  splendid  frame  in 
whicli  to  set  the  picture  of  Marsac's  love  and  cotirage  .  .  .  the  troublous  days  are  well 
described  and  the  interest  is  genuine  and  lasting,  for  up  to  the  very  end  the  author  manages 
effects  which  impel  the  reader  to  go  on  with  renewed  curiosity.'' — The  Nation. 

"  A  genuine  and  admirable  piece  of  work.  .  .  .  The  reader  will  not  turn  many  pages 
before  he  finds  himself  in  the  grasp  of  a  writer  who  holds  his  attention  to  the  very  fast  mo- 
ment of  the  story.     The  spirit  of  adventure  pervades  the  whole  from  beginning  to  end.     .     .     . 

It  may  be  said  that  the  narration  is  a  delightful  love  story.  The  interest  of  the  reader 
is  constantly  excited  by  the  development  of  unexpected  turns  m  the  relation  of  the  principal 
lovers.  The  romance  lies  against  a  background  of  history  truly  painted.  .  .  .  The 
descriptions  of  the  court  life  of  the  period  and  of  the  factional  strifes,  divisions,  hatreds  of  the 
age,  are  fine.  .  .  .  This  story  of  those  times  is  worthy  of  a  very  high  place  among  histori- 
cal novels  of  recent  years." — Public  Opinion. 

"  Bold,  strong,  dashing,  it  is  one  of  the  best  we  have  read  for  many  years.  We  sat  down 
for  a  cursory  perusal,  and  ended  by  reading  it  delightedly  through.  .  .  .  Mr.  Weyman 
has  much  of  the  vigor  and  rush  of  incident  of  Dr.  Conan  Doyle,  and  this  book  ranks  worthily 
beside  •  The  White  Company.*  .  .  .  We  very  cordially  recommend  this  book  to  the  jaded 
novel  reader  who  cares  for  manly  actions  more  than  for  morbid  introspection." 

— The  Churchman. 

"The  book  is  not  only  good  literature,  it  Is  a  'rattling  good  story,'  instinct  with  the 
'    '    '  ■  '       ■  •     •    •  •  '^'•'  •       rii^  •      •  ■  ^   .    • 


spirit  of  true  adventure  and  stirring  emotion.  Of  love  and  peril,  intrigue  and  fighting,  there 
is  plenty,  and  many  scenes  could  not  have  been  bettered.  In  all  his  adventures,  and  thej 
are  many,  Marsac  acts  as  befits  his  epoch  and  his  own  modest  yet  gallant  personality.     Well 


is  plenty,  and  many  scenes  could  not  have  been  bettered.     In  all  his  adventures,  and  they 

odest  yet  gallant  personality.     Well- 
known  historical  figures  emerge  in  telling  fashion  under  Mr.  Weyraan's  discriminating  and 


fascinating  touch."— ATHENitUM. 

"  I  cannot  fancy  any  reader,  old  or  young,  not  sharing  with  doughty  Crillon  his  admiration 
for  M.  de  Marsac,  who,  though  no  swashbuckler,  has  a  sword  that  leaps  from  its  scabbard  at  the 
breath  of  insult.  .  .  .  There  are  several  historical  personages  in  the  novel ;  there  is,  of 
course,  a  heroine,  of  great  beauty  and  enterprise ;  but  that  true  '  Gentleman  of  France,' 
M.  de  Marsac,  with  his  perseverance  and  valor,  dominates  them  all." 

—Mr.  James  Payn  in  the  Illustrated  London  News. 


LONGMANS,  GEEEN,  &  00.,  15  EAST  16th  STEEET,  NEW  TOEK, 


UNDER    THE    RED    ROBE. 

A    ROMANCE. 
By   STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN, 

AUTHOR  OF  "a  GENTLEMAN  OF  FRANCE,"  "  THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  WOLF,"  ETC. 

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"Mr.  Weyman  is  a  brave  writer,  who  imagines  fine  things  and  describes  them 
splendidly.  There  is  something  to  interest  a  healthy  mind  on  e\ery  page  of  his  new 
story.  Its  interest  never  flags,  for  his  resource  is  rich,  and  it  is,  moreover,  the  kind  of 
a  story  that  one  cannot  plainly  see  the  end  of  from  Chapter  I.  .  .  .  the  story  reveals 
a  knowledge  of  French  character  and  French  landscape  that  was  surely  never  ac- 
quired at  second  hand.  The  beginning  is  wonderfully  interesting."— New  York  Times. 

"  As  perfect  a  novel  of  the  new  school  of  fiction  as  '  Ivanhoe  '  or  '  Henry  Esmond  ' 
was  of  theirs.  Each  later  story  has  shown  a  marked  advance  in  strength  and  treat- 
ment, and  in  the  last  Mr,  Weyman  .  .  .  demonstrates  that  he  has  no  superior 
among  living  novelists.  .  .  .  There  are  but  two  characters  in  the  story— his  art 
makes  all  other  but  unnoticed  shadows  cast  by  them— and  the  attention  is  so  keenly 
fixed  upon  one  or  both,  from  the  first  word  to  the  last,  that  we  live  in  their  thoughts 
and  see  the  drama  unfolded  through  their  eyes."— N.  Y.  World. 

"  It  was  bold  to  take  Richelieu  and  his  time  as  a  subject  and  thus  to  challenge  com- 
mrison  with  Dumas's  immortal  musketeers;  but  the  result  justifies  the  boldness.  .  .  . 
The  plot  is  admirably  clear  and  strong,  the  diction  singularly  concise  and  telling,  and 
the  stirring  events  are  so  managed  as  not  to  degenerate  into  sensationalism.  Few 
better  novels  of  adventure  than  this  have  ever  been  written."— Outlook,  New  York. 

"  A  wonderfully  brilliant  and  thrilling  romance.  .  .  .  Mr.  Weyman  has  a  positive 
talent  for  concise  dramatic  narration.  Every  phrase  tells,  and  the  characters  stand 
out  with  life-like  distinctness.  Some  of  the  most  fascinating  epochs  in  French  history 
have  been  splendidly  illuminated  by  his  novels,  which  are  to  be  reckoned  among  the 
notable  successes  of  later  nineteenth-century  fiction.  This  story  of '  Under  the  Red 
Robe '  is  in  its  way  one  of  the  very  best  things  he  has  done.  It  is  illustrated  with 
vigor  and  appropriateness  from  twelve  full-page  designs  by  R.  Caton  Woodville." 

—Boston  Beacon. 

"  It  is  a  skillfully  drawn  picture  of  the  times,  drawn  in  simple  and  transparent 
English,  and  quivering  with  tense  human  feeling  from  the  first  word  to  the  last.  It  is 
not  a  book  that  can  be  laid  down  at  the  middle  of  it.  The  reader  once  caught  in  its 
whirl  can  no  more  escape  from  it  than  a  ship  from  the  maelstrom." 

— Picayune,  New  Orleans. 

"The  'red  robe'  refers  to  Cardinal  Richelieu,  in  whose  day  the  story  is  laid. 
The  descriptions  of  his  court,  his  judicial  machinations  and  ministrations,  his  partial 
defeat,  stand  out  from  the  book  as  vivid  as  flame  against  a  background  of  snow.  For 
the  rest,  the  book  is  clever  and  interesting,  and  overflowing  with  heroic  incident. 
Stanley  Weyman  is  an  author  who  has  apparently  come  to  stay." — Chicago  Post. 

"  In  this  story  Mr.  Weyman  returns  to  the  scene  of  his  '  Gentleman  of  France,' 
although  his  new  heroes  are  of  different  mould.  The  book  is  full  of  adventure  and 
characterized  by  a  deeper  study  of  character  than  its  predecessor." 

—Washington  Post. 

"  Mr.  Weyman  has  quite  topped  his  first  success,  .  .  .  The  author  artfully 
pursues  the  line  on  which  his  happy  initial  venture  was  laid.  We  have  in  Berault,  the 
hero,  a  more  impressive  Marsac  ;  an  accomplished  duelist,  telling  the  tale  of  his  own 
adventures,  he  first  repels  and  finally  attracts  us.  He  is  at  once  the  tool  of  Richelieu, 
and  a  man  of  honor.  Here  is  a  noteworthy  romance,  full  of  thrilling  incident  set  down 
by  a  master-hand." — Philadelphia  Press. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  00.,  15  EAST  16th  STREET,  NEW  YORK. 


DOREEN. 

THE    STORY    OF    A    SINGER. 
By  EDNA  LYALL, 

AUTHOR  OF  "WE  TWO,"  "DONOVAN,"  "THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  SLANDER, 
"in  THE  GOLDEN  DAYS,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


Crown  8vo,  Buckram  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1.50. 

"  Edna  Lyall  has  evidently  made  a  close  study  of  the  Irish  question,  and  she  sees 
its  varying  aspects  and  problems  with  a  desire  to  do  justice  to  all,  while  she  stands 
firmly  on  her  own  principles.  .  .  .  There  is  much  to  recommend  in  Edna  Lyall's 
books,  and  her  admirers  are  many.  The  book  will  be  read  with  interest.  .  .  .  It  is 
yet  well  written  and  comprehensive,  treating  of  universal  principles  in  a  broad  way 
and  presenting  characters  in  whom  one  becomes  interested  for  their  own  sake." 

—Literary  World,  Boston. 

"  A  plot  which  has  original  life  and  vigor.  .  .  .  Altogether  a  good  novel,  and  if 
the  author  has  written  nothing  else  she  could  safely  rest  her  literary  reputation  on 
*  Doreen.'  "—Public  Opinion,  N.  Y. 

"  Edna  Lyall's  .  .  .  new  story  ...  is  one  of  her  best.  It  has,  naturally, 
enough  of  tragedy  to  make  it  intensely  interesting  without  being  sensational  in  any 
offensive  sense.  The  heroine,  Doreen,  is  a  delightful  character,  sturdy,  strong,  lovable, 
womanly,  and  genuinely  Irish.  Miss  Bayly  is  a  conscientious  writer,  imbued  vvith 
deep  feeling,  a  high  purpose,  and  her  style  is  attractive  and  pure." 

—Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  The  heroine  is  a  most  winsome  Irish  maiden  with  an  exquisite  voice,  and  she 
comes  bravely  out  of  the  involved  dramatic  situation  in  which  she  is  placed  by  an  early 
vow." — Press,  Philadelphia. 

"  It  is  a  very  clever  story  indeed,  and  skillfully  written.  The  heroine  is  a  bright 
and  beautiful  Irish  girl,  and  a  musician,"— New  Orleans  Picayune. 

"  A  very  interesting  story  and  is  full  of  interesting  and  exciting:  incidents,  and  its 
characters  are  well  drawn  and  sustained  throughout  the  book.  It  is  tastefully  bound, 
and  will  doubtless  prove  popular  with  this  writer's  many  admirers." 

—Portland  Advertiser. 

"Doreen,  the  heroine  of  this  latest  novel  of  Edna  Lyall,  is  an  Irish  girl,  gentle, 
kind,  and  modest,  but  brave,  resolute,  and  unflinching  when  there  is  a  question  of 


those  whom  she  loves,  of  right  or  wrong,  or  of  the  welfare  of  the  country  which  she 
holds  dearest  of  all.  .  .  .  The  book  is  thoroughly  wholesome,  good,  and  interesting. 
Miss  Lyall  writes  of  Ireland,  of  Irish  ways  and  feelings,  as  well  as  of  Catholic  beliefs 


and  customs,  with  knowledge  and  sympathy.     .    .     .    The  volume  is  tastefully  bound 
.    .    .    well  printed  and  convenient  to  handle  and  to  read." 

— The  Sacred  Heart  Rp:view,  Boston. 

"  The  heroine,  clever,  patriotic,  self-denying,  is  worthy  of  the  name,  and  the  hero 
is  equally  excellent.  ...  An  interesting  novel,  a  good  picture  of  a  bright,  pure- 
minded,  high-hearted  heroine."— Boston  Pilot. 

"  This  is  perhaps  one  of  the  best  of  Edna  Lyall's  clever  stories.  Doreen  is  a  young 
Irish  girl,  who  loves  her  native  land,  and  who  is  a  credit  to  her  race.  .  .  .  Inter- 
woven with  the  story  of  her  experience  and  of  her  love  for  a  young  Englishman  is  an 
interesting  account  of  the  rise  and  progress  of  the  Home  Rule  movement.  Miss  Lyall's 
book  is  a  charming  tale,  and  will  not  fail  to  delight  every  one  who  reads  it.  The  girl 
Doreen  is  a  beautiful  character." — Catholic  News. 

"The  time  is  the  present,  the  scene  is  laid  in  Ireland  and  England,  and  Doreen. 
the  heroine,  is  a  charming  Irish  girl,  devoted  to  her  country  and  her  oppressed 
countrymen.  .  .  .  The  story  is  attractively  told  and  a  very  impartial  view  of  the 
Irish  question  is  taken.  .  .  .  Doreen  is  a  most  attractive  character,  refreshingly 
simple  and  natural,  and  yet  with  a  decided  personality  of  her  own.  ...  A  whole- 
some, well-written  stor>',  and  free  from  any  touch  of  atheism." — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 


lo:tgmans,  geeen,  &  oo.,  15  east  leth  steeet,  new  tork. 


"CAN  THIS   BE   LOVE?" 

A    NOVEL. 
By  Mrs.  PARR, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  DOROTHY  ^X,"  "ADAM  AND  EVE,"  ETC. 


With  Frontispiece  and  Vignette  by  Charles  Kerr. 
12mo,  Clotli,  Ornamental,  $1.25. 


"  A  wholesome  tale.  .  .  .  It  is  a  pleasant  story,  delightfully  told,  and  with  a  whole- 
some English  atmosphere." — Book  Buyer,  N.  Y. 

"  This  is  a  story  that  will  repay  the  time  spent  over  it.  Mrs.  Parr  is  a  strong  and  inter- 
esting writer.  Her  characters  are  live  characters,  and  the  incidents  through  which  they 
move  are  natural  and  realistic.  Her  present  story  is  throughout  an  exceptionally  interesting 
one,  and  the  reader  will  find  his  interest  in  it  kept  up  to  tlie  end.  It  is  handsomely  printed 
on  good  paper." — Christian  at  Work,  N.  Y. 

"The  touches  of  humor  .  .  .  are  pleasant;  the  descriptions  of  scenery  are  charm- 
ing ;  the  plot  is  well  and  artistically  planned  and  executed  ;  but,  best  of  all,  the  whole  tone  of 
the  book  is  pure  and  free  from  morbidness,  and  one  can  read  it  from  cover  to  cover  without 
finding  the  taint  of  vulgarity  and  super-emotionalism  (to  call  it  by  the  most  polite  name) 
which  degrades  so  much  of  modern  fiction." — Literary  World,  Boston. 

"  It  is  a  love  story  of  more  than  usual  interest  and  is  well  worth  reading.  .  .  .  The 
three  principal  persons  in  the  book  are  fine  character  studies,  and  the  story  is  strong  and 
interesting."— Advertiser,  Portland,  Me. 

"  Mrs.  Parr  has  given  us  an  altogether  charming  book." — Traveller,  Boston. 

"  One  of  the  daintiest,  most  homelike  and  natural  stories  of  the  week  .  .  .  the  girl 
is  a  downright,  genuine,  substantial  girl,  like  the  girls  we  know  in  the  world  and  love." 

—Commercial  Gazette,  Cincinnati. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  WOLF, 

A  ROMANCE. 

By  STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN, 

author   of    "  A   gentleman   of  FRANCE,"  ETC. 


With   Frontispiece  and  Vignette   by  Charles  Kerr. 
12mo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1.25. 


"  A  delightful  volume  .  .  .  one  of  the  brightest,  briskest  tales  I  have  met  with  for  a 
long  time.  Dealing  with  the  Eve  of  St.  Bartholomew  it  portrays  that  night  of  horror  from  a 
point  entirely  new,  and,  we  may  add,  relieves  the  gloom  by  many  a  fiash  and  gleam  of  sun- 
shine. Best  of  all  is  the  conception  of  the  Vidame.  His  character  alone  would  make  the 
book  live."— Critic,  N.  Y. 

"  Recounted  as  by  an  eye  witness  in  a  forceful  way  with  a  rapid  and  graphic  style  that 
commands  interest  and  admiration. 

Of  the  half  dozen  stories  of  St.  Bartholomew's  Eve  which  we  have  read  this  ranks  first 
in  vividness,  delicacy  of  perception,  reserve  power,  and  high  principle." 

—Christian  Union,  N.  Y. 

"  A  romance  which,  although  short,  deserves  a  place  in  literature  along  side  of  Charles 
Reade's  '  Cloister  and  the  Hearth.'  ...  We  have  given  Mr.  Weyman's  book  not  only 
a  thorough  reading  with  great  interest,  but  also  a  more  than  usual  amount  of  space  because 
we  consider  it  one  of  the  best  examples  in  recent  fiction  of  how  thrilling  and  even  bloody 
adventures  and  scenes  may  be  described  in  a  style  that  is  graphic  and  true  to  detail,  and  yet 
delicate,  quaint,  and  free  from  all  coarseness  and  brutality." 

—Commercial  Advertiser,  N.  Y. 


LONGMANS,  GEEEN,  &  00.,  15  EAST  16th  STEEET,  NEW  YOEK. 


MONTEZUMA'S    DAUGHTER, 

By  H.  rider  haggard, 

AUTHOR    OF'*SHH,"  "ALLAN    QUATERMAIN,"  "  NADA   THE    LILY,"  ETC. 


With  24-  full-pagre  Illustrations  and  Vignette  by  Maurice 
Grelffenhagen.     Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  $1.00. 

"Adventures  that  stir  the  reader's  blood  and,  like  magic  spells,  hold  his  attention  with 
power  so  strong  that  only  the  completion  of  the  novel  can  satisfy  his  interest.  ...  In 
this  novel  the  motive  of  revenge  is  treated  with  a  subtle  power  .  .  .  this  latest  production 
of  Mr.  Haggard  blends  with  the  instruction  of  the  historical  novel  the  charm  of  a  splendid 
romance."— Public  Opinion. 

"  Mr.  Haggard  has  done  nothing  better  ...  it  may  well  be  doubted  if  he  has  ever 
done  anything  half  so  good.  The  tale  is  one  of  the  good,  old-fashioned  sort,  filled  with  the 
clrments  of  romance  and  adventure,  and  it  moves  on  from  one  thrilling  situation  to  another 
with  a  celerity  and  verisimilitude  that  positively  fascinate  the  reader.  .  .  .  The  story  is 
told  with  astonishing  variety  of  detail,  and  in  its  main  lines  keeps  close  to  historical  truth. 
The  author  has  evidently  written  with  enthusiasm  and  entire  love  of  his  theme,  and  the  result 
is  a  really  splendid  piece  of  romantic  literature.  The  illustrations,  by  Maurice  GreifFenhagen, 
are  admirable  in  spirit  and  technique." — Boston  Ueacon. 

"  Has  a  good  deal  of  the  quality  that  lent  such  interest  to  '  King  Solomon's  Mines '  and 
'Allan  Quatermain.'  .  .  .  England,  Spain,  and  the  country  which  is  now  Mexico  afford 
the  field  of  the  story,  and  a  great  number  of  most  romantic  and  blood-stirring  activities  occur 
in  each  ...  a  successful  story  well  constructed,  full  of  devious  and  exciting  action, 
and  we  believe  that  it  will  find  a  multitude  of  appreciative  readers." — SUN,  N.  Y. 

"  It  is  a  tale  of  adventure  and  romance,  with  a  fine  historical  setting  and  with  a  vivid 
reproduction  of  the  manners  and  people  of  the  age.  The  plot  is  handled  with  dexterity  and 
skill,  and  the  reader's  interest  is  always  seen.  There  is,  it  should  also  be  noted,  nothing  hke 
vulgar  sensationalism  in  the  treatment,  and  the  literary  quality  is  sound  throughout. 

Among  the  very  best  stories  of  love,  war,  and  romance  that  have  been  written." 

—The  Outlook. 

"  Is  the  latest  and  best  of  that  popular  writer's  works  of  fiction.  It  enters  a  new 
field  not  before  touched  by  previous  tales  from  the  same  author.  In  its  splendor  of  descrip- 
tion, weirdness  of  imagery,  and  wealth  of  startling  incidents  it  rivals  '  King  Solomon's  Mines ' 
and  other  earlier  stories,  but  shows  superior  strength  in  many  respects,  and  presents  novelty 
of  scene  that  must  win  new  and  more  enduring  fame  for  its  talented  creator.  .  ,  .  The 
analysis  of  human  motives  and  emotions  is  more  subtle  in  this  work  than  in  any  previous 
production  by  Mr.  Haggard.  The  story  will  generally  be  accorded  highest  literary  rank 
among  the  author's  works,  and  will  prove  of  fascinating  interest  to  a  host  of  readers." 

— Minneapolis  Spectator. 

"  Is  full  of  the  magnificence  of  the  Aztec  reign,  and  is  quite  as  romantic  and  unbelievable 
as  the  most  fantastic  of  his  earlier  creations," — Book  Buyer, 

"  We  should  be  disposed  to  rank  this  volume  next  to  '  King  Solomon's  Mines '  in  order 
of  interest  and  merit  among  the  author's  works." — Literary  World,  Boston. 

"  It  is  decidedly  the  most  powerful  and  enjoyable  book  that  Mr.  Rider  Haggard  has 
written,  with  the  single  exception  of '  Jess,'  " — Academy. 

"  Mr.  Haggard  has  rarely  done  anything  better  than  this  romantic  and  interesting  narra- 
tive.    Throughout  the  story  we  are  hurried  from  one  thrilling  experience  to  another,  and  the 
whole  book  is  written  at  a  level  of  sustained  passion,  which  gives  it  a  very  absorbing  hold  on 
our  imagination.     A  si>ecial  word  of  praise  ought  to  be  given  to  the  excellent  illustrations." 
„    .  .     ,  ,   ,.   .  ,     .  .  —Daily  Telegraph. 

"  Perhaps  the  best  of  all  the  authors  stories. 

The  great  distinguishing  quality  of  Rider  Haggard  is  this  magic  power  of  seizing  and 
holding  his  readers  so  that  they  become  absorbed  and  abstracted  from  all  earthly  things  while 
their  eyes  devout  the  page.  .  .  .  A  romance  must  have 'grip.'  .  .  .  This  romance 
possesses  the  quality  of  'grip'  in  an  eminent  degree." — Walter  Besant  in  the  Author. 

"  The  story  is  both  graphic  and  exciting,  .  .  .  and  tells  of  the  invasion  of  Cortes ; 
but  there  are  antecedent  passages  in  England  and  Spain,  for  the  hero  is  an  English  adven- 
turer who  finds  his  way  through  Spain  to  Mexico  on  a  vengeful  quest  The  vengeance  is  cer- 
tainly satisfactory,  but  it  is  not  reached  until  the  hero  has  had  as  surprising  a  series  of  perils 
and  escapes  as  even  the  fertile  imagination  of  the  author  ever  devised."— Dial,  Chicago. 


LONGMANS,  GEEEN,  &  00.,  15  EAST  16tli  STEEET,  NEW  YOEK. 


MICAH   CLARKE. 

His  statement  as  made  to  his  three  Grandchildren,  Joseph,  Gervas,  a,nd 
Reuben,  during  the  hard  Winter  of  1734. 

By  a.   CONAN   DOYLE, 

AUTHOR  OP  "THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  POLE-STAR,"  "THE  REFUGEES,"  ETC. 


Author's  Edition,    Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1.25. 

"  The  language  has  the  quaintness  of  old  times,  and  the  descriptions  are  so  vivid  and 
home-like  as  to  make  us  feel  that  we  are  listening  to  them  ourselves  ;  indeed,  the  story  stands 
very  high  among  historical  novels,  and  will  be  of  great  interest  to  any  one  who  has  followed 
the  more  critical  setting  forth  of  the  troubles  preceding  the  Restoration  found  in  the  regular 
histories.    The  author  has  succeeded  in  giving  us  the  genuine  flavor  of  former  days.'' 

—Public  Opinion. 

"...    There  is  a  great  deal  of  vivid,  thrilling  description."— The  Nation. 

"  Wonderfully  vivid  and  realistic,  full  of  the  color  of  the  time,  and  characterized  by  re- 
markable power,  .  .  .  there  are  so  many  pieces  of  excellent  workmanship  in  'Micah 
Clarke'  that  it  would  take  too  long  to  name  them." — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

"  We  make  bold  to  say  that  .  .  ,  this  story  of  Mr.  Doyle's  is  easily  the  best  exam- 
ple of  the  class  of  fiction  to  which  it  belongs  of  the  year.  Two  descriptions  of  battles  in 
this  story  are,  it  seems  to  us,  among  the  most  brilliant  and  spirited  bits  of  writing  we  have 
lately  had.  But  it  is  not  merely  two  or  three  striking  incidents,  but  the  maintained  interest 
of  the  entire  tale,  that  leads  us  to  give  it  such  praise  as  we  have  risked  above.  We  shall 
look  with  interest  for  a  second  story  from  Mr.  Doyle's  pen."— Christian  Union. 

"It  is  due  to  the  dramatic  power  of  the  author  that  this  story  becomes  so  absorbing. 
There  is  quickness  and  vivacity  in  it,  and  the  story  of  the  soldier  of  fortune  of  that  day, 
Saxon,  who  has  acquired  this  military  art  in  Germany,  is  capitally  told.  .  .  .  Mr. 
Doyle  never  pauses,  and  so  the  reader  can  go  at  full  gallop  through  the  story."— N.  Y.  Times. 


THE  CAPTAIN   OF  THE   POLE-STAR: 

And  Other  Tales. 

By  a.   CONAN   DOYLE. 


Crown    8vo,    cloth,    $1.25. 


••  Lovers  of  wild  adventure,  of  brilliant  satire,  of  quiet  pathos,  will  all  find  wherewith  to 
be  content  in  the  little  book,  which,  in  its  variety  of  subject  and  treatment,  reads  more  like  a 
volume  of  stories  from  Maga  than  a  collection  of  tales  from  one  of  the  same  pen." 

— ATHENiEUM,  London. 
"  This  volume  of  short  stories  proves  Mr.  Doyle  to  be  an  expert  of  the  most  delightful 
and  skillfull  kind  in  tales  of  mystery,  imagination,  and  fancy.     .     .     .     The  book  forms  a 
most  delightful  addition  to  the  too  poor  literature  of  good  short  stories." 

— Scotsman  Athenaeum. 

"  All  the  stories  will  repay  careful  reading,  as  in  addition  to  the  interest  of  the  plots 
the  style  is  singularly  varied  and  reveals  as  many  devices  of  the  literary  artist  as  that  of 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson.''— San  Francisco  Chronicle. 


LONaMANS,  GREEN,  &  00.,  15  EAST  16th  STREET,  NEW  YORK. 


THE  ONE  GOOD   GUEST. 

A  NOVEL. 

By  L.  B.  WALFORD, 

AUTHOR  or  ••  MR.  SMITH,"  "  THE  BABY'S  GRANDMOTHER,"  ETC.,  ETC. 

12mo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1,00. 

"  It  is  a  delightful  picture  of  life  at  an  English  estate,  which  is  presided  over  by  a  young 
'  Squire '  and  his  young  sister.  Their  experiences  are  cleverly  told,  and  the  complications 
which  arise  are  amusuig  and  interesting.  There  are  many  humorous  touches,  too,  which 
add  no  slight  strength  to  the  story."— Boston  Times. 

'*  A  charming  little  social  comedy,  permeated  with  a  refinement  of  spontaneous  humor 
and  brilliant  with  touches  of  shrewd  and  searching  satire." — Boston  Beacon. 

"  The  story  is  bright,  amusing,  full  of  interest  and  incident,  and  the  characters  are  ad 
mirably  drawn.  Every  reader  will  recognize  a  friend  or  acquaintance  in  some  of  the  people 
here  portrayed.  Every  one  will  wish  he  could  have  been  a  guest  at  Duckbill  Manor,  and 
will  hope  that  the  author  has  more  stories  to  tell." — Public  Opinion. 

••  A  natural,  amusing,  kindly  tale,  told  with  great  skill.  The  characters  are  delightfully 
human,  the  individuality  well  caught  and  preserved,  the  quaint  humor  lightens  every  page, 
and  a  simple  delicacy  and  tenderness  complete  an  excellent  specimen  of  story  telling."- 

— Providence  Jouknal. 

"  For  neat  little  excursions  into  English  social  life,  and  that  of  the  best,  commend  us  to 
the  writer  of  'The  One  Good  Guest.' "— N.  Y.  Times. 

"  The  story  is  bright,  amusing,  full  of  interest  and  incident,  and  the  characters  are  ad- 
mirably drawn.  Every  reader  will  recognize  a  friend  or  acquaintance  in  some  of  the  people 
here  portrayed.  Every  one  will  wish  he  could  have  been  a  guest  at  Duckbill  Manor,  and 
wiU  hope  that  the  author  has  more  stories  to  tell."— Portland  Oregonian. 


BEGGARS   ALL. 

A  NOVEL. 

By  miss  L.  DOUGALL. 
Sixth  Edition.      12mo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1.00. 


"This  is  one  of  the  strongest  as  well  as  most  original  romances  of  the  year.  .  .  .  The 
plot  is  extraordinary.  .  .  .  The  close  of  the  story  is  powerful  and  natural.  ...  A 
masterpiece  of  restrained  and  legitimate  dramatic  fiction.''— Literary  World. 

"To  say  that  '  Beggars  AH'  is  a  remarkable  novel  is  to  put  the  case  mildly  indeed,  for 
it  is  one  of  the  most  original,  discerning,  and  thoroughly  philosophical  presentations  of 
character  that  has  appeared  in  English  for  many  a  day.  .  .  .  Emphatically  a  novel 
that  thoughtful  people  ought  to  read  .  .  .  the  perusal  of  it  will  by  many  be  reckoned 
among  the  intellectual  experiences  that  are  not  easily  forgotten." — Boston  Beacon. 

*'  A  story  of  thrilling  interest."— Home  Journal. 

"  A  very  unusual  quality  of  novel.  It  is  written  with  ability  :  it  tells  a  strong  story  with 
elaborate  analysis  of  character  and  motive  .  .  .  it  is  of  decided  interest  and  worth 
reading." — Commercial  Advertiser,  N.  Y. 

'•  It  is  more  than  a  story  for  mere  summer  reading,  but  deserves  a  permanent  place 
among  the  best  works  of  modern  fiction.  The  author  has  struck  a  vein  of  originality  purely 
her  own.  .  .  .  It  is  tragic,  pathetic,  humerous  by  turns.  .  .  .  Miss  Dougall  has,  in 
fact,  scored  a  great  success.  Her  book  is  artistic,  realistic,  intensely  dramatic — in  fact,  one 
of  the  novels  of  the  year." — Boston  Traveller. 

"  'Beggars  All '  is  a  noble  work  of  art,  but  is  also  something  more  and  something  better. 
li  is  a  book  with  a  soul  in  it,  and  in  a  sense,  therefore,  it  may  be  described  as  an  mspired 
work.  The  inspiration  of  genius  may  or  may  not  be  lacking  to  it,  but  the  inspiration  of  a 
pure  and  beautiful  spirituality  pervades  it  completely  ...  the  characters  are  truth- 
fully and  powerfully  drawn,  the  situations  finely  imagined,  and  the  story  profoundly 
interesting."— Chicago  Tribune. 

LONGMANS,  GREEN,  &  00.,  15  EAST  16tli  STEEET,  NEW  YORK. 


WHAT    NECESSITY    KNOWS, 

A  Novel  of  Canadian  Life  and  Character. 


Bv  MISS   L.    DOUGALL, 

AUTHOR   OF   "  BEGGARS  ALL." 


Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  $1.00. 

"  A  very  remarkable  novel,  and  not  a  book  that  can  be  lightly  classified  or  ranged  with 
other  modern  works  of  fiction.  .  .  .  It  is  a  distinct  creation  ...  a  structure  of 
noble  and  original  design  and  of  grand  and  dignified  conception.  .  .  .  The  book  bristles 
with  epigrammatic  sayings  which  one  would  like  to  remember.  ...  It  will  appeal 
strongly  by  force  of  its  originality  and  depth  of  insight  and  for  the  eloquence  and  dignity  of 
style  in  the  descriptive  passages." — Manchester  Guardian,  London. 

•*  We  think  we  are  well  within  the  mark  in  saying  that  this  novel  is  one  of  the  three  or 
four  best  novels  of  the  year.  The  social  atmosphere  as  well  as  the  external  conditions  c  f 
Canadian  life  are  reproduced  faithfully.  The  author  is  eminently  thoughtful,  yet  the  story 
is  not  distinctively  one  of  moral  purpose.  The  play  of  character  and  the  clash  of  purpose  ai  c 
finely  wrought  out.  .  .  .  What  gives  the  book  its  highest  value  is  really  the  authors 
deep  knowled«:e  of  motive  and  character.  The  reader  continually  comes  across  keen  obser- 
vations and  subtle  expressions  that  not  infrequently  recall  George  Eliot.  The  novel  is  one 
that  is  worth  reading  a  second  time."— Outlook,  New  York. 

"  Keen  analysis,  deeu  spiritual   insight,  and  a  quick  sense  of  beauty  in  nature  antl 

human  nature  are  combined  to  put  before  us  a  drama  of  human  life    .     .     .     the  book  is  not 

only  interesting  but  stimulating,  not  only  strong  but   suggestive,  and  we  may  say  of  the 

writer,  in  Sidney  Lanier's  words,  'She  shows  man  what  he  may  be  in  terms  of  what  he  is.'" 

^ —Literary  World,  Boston. 

NADA   THE   LILY. 

By  H.  rider  haggard, 

author  of  "  SHE,"  "  ALLAN  QUATERMAIN,"  ETC. 

With    23  full-pagre    Illustrations,  by   C.  H.  M.  Kerr. 
12nno,  Cloth,  Ornamental  (Copyright),  $  1  .OO. 

"  A  thrilling  book  full  .  .  .  of  almost  incredible  instances  of  personal  daring  and  of 
wonderful  revenge.  .  .  .  The  many  vigorous  illustrations  add  much  to  the  interest  of  a 
book  that  may  safely  be  denominated  as  Mr.  Haggard's  most  successful  venture  in  the 
writing  of  fiction."— Boston  Beacon. 

"  The  story  of 'Nada  the  Lily 'is  full  of  action  and  adventure;  the  plot  is  cleverly 
wrought  and  the  fighting  and  adventure  are  described  with  spirit.  Once  begun  it  is,  indeed, 
a  story  to  be  finished."— N.  Y.  Tribune. 

"  The  story  is  a  magnificent  effort  of  the  imagination  and  quite  the  best  of  all  that  Mr. 
Haggard  has  done.  There  is  no  example  of  manufactured  miracle  in  this  story,  for  the  story 
of  the  Ghost  mountain,  the  Stone  Witch,  and  the  Wolves  is  nothing  but  the  folk-lore  of  the 
African  tribes,  and  in  no  respect  similar  to  the  wonders  which  the  author  introduced  into 
the  stories  in  which  Allan  Quatermain  figures." — Springfield  Republican. 

"  To  my  mind  the  realization  of  savage  existence  and  the  spirit  of  it  have  never  been  so 
honestly  and  accurately  set  forth.  The  Indians  of  Chateaubriand,  and  even  of  Cooper,  are 
conventional  compared  with  these  blood-thirsty,  loyal,  and  fatalistic  Zulus.  .  .  .  The 
whole  legend  seems  to  me  to  be  a  curiously  veracious  reproduction  of  Zulu  life  and  character." 

— Mr.  Andrew  Lang  in  the  New  Review. 

"  Rider  Haggard's  latest  story  .  .  .  has  a  more  permanent  value  than  anything 
this  prolific  author  has  previously  given  to  the  public.  He  has  preserved  in  this  latest 
romance  many  of  the  curious  tales,  traditions,  superstitions,  the  wonderful  folk-lore  of  a 
nation  now  extinct,  a  people  rapidly  melting  away  before  an  advancing  tide  of  civilization. 
The  romance  into  which  Mr.  Haggard  has  woven  valuable  material  is  in  his  own  inimitable 
style,  and  will  delight  those  who  love  the  weirdly  improbable."— Boston  Traveller. 


LONGMANS,  GEEEN,  &00.,  15  EAST  16th  STREET,  NEW  YORK. 


KEITH    DERAMORE 

A    NOVEL. 

By  the  Author  of  "  Miss  Molly." 


Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  $1.00. 


"Oneof  the  strongest  novels  for  the  year.  .  .  .  A  book  of  absorbing  and  sustained 
interest,  full  of  those  touches  of  pathos,  gusts  of  passion,  and  quick  glimpses  into  the  very 
hearts  of  men  and  women  which  are  a  necessary  equipment  of  any  great  writer  of  fiction." 

— Star. 

"  A  story  with  originality  of  plot  and  a  number  of  interesting  and  skillfully  drawn  char- 
acters.   .    .     .     Well  worthy  of  a  careful  perusal."— Boston  Beacon. 

"  The  few  important  characters  introduced  are  very  clearly  and  well  drawn  ;  one  is  a 
quite  unusual  type  and  reveals  a  good  deal  of  power  m  the  author.  It  is  a  live  story  of 
more  than  ordinary  interest."— Review  of  Reviews. 

"  A  novel  of  quiet  but  distinct  force  and  of  marked  refinement  in  manner.  The  few 
characters  m  '  Keith  Deramore '  are  clearly  and  delicately  drawn,  and  the  slight  plot  is  well 
sustained." — Christian   Union. 

"  The  author  of  'Miss  Molly'  shall  have  her  reward  in  the  reception  of  'Keith  Dera- 
more.'   If  it  is  not  popular  there  is  no  value  in  prophecy." — Springfield  Republican. 

"The  story  is  strong  and  interesting,  worthy  of  a  high  place  in  fiction." 

—Public  Opinion. 

"  Its  development  can  be  followed  with  great  interest.  It  is  well  written  and  entertain* 
ing  throughout.' —The  Critic. 

**  An  exceptionally  interesting  novel.    It  is  an  admirable  addition  to  an  admirable  series." 

— Boston  Travbller. 

"  It  contains  character-drawing  which  places  it  much  above  the  average  love  story,  and 
makes  the  reading  of  it  worth  while.  It  is  a  fine  study  of  a  normally-selfish  man.  There  is 
humor  in  it,  and  sustained  interest."— Buffalo  Express. 


A  MORAL  DILEMMA, 

By    ANNIE    M.     THOMPSON. 


Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  $1.00. 


"We  have  in  this  most  delightful  volume  .  .  .  a  new  novel  by  a  new  author.  The 
title  is  happily  chosen,  the  plot  is  thrillingly  interesting,  its  development  is  unusually  artistic, 
the  style  is  exceptionally  pure,  the  descriptions  are  graphic.  In  short  we  have  one  of  the 
best  of  recent  novels,  and  the  author  give*  great  promise.  — Boston  Traveller. 

"  A  novel  of  rare  beauty  and  absorbing  interest.  Its  plot,  which  is  constructed  with 
great  skill,  is  decidedly  unconventional  in  its  development,  and  its  denouement,  although 
unanticipated  until  near  its  cUmax,  really  comes  as  an  agreeable  surprise.  ...  As  a 
literary  work,  *  A  Moral  Dilemma  '  will  take  high  rank." — Boston  Home  Journal. 

"The  story  is  well  written  and  gives  promise  of  the  development  of  a  writer  who  will 
take  place  among  the  ranks  of  those  of  her  sex  who  are  supplying  what  is  much  needed  at 
this  time— entertaining,  wholesome  literature." — Yale  Courant. 

"The  author  writes  with  vigor  and  earnestness,  and  the  book  is  one  of  interest  and 
power."— Public  Opinion. 

"The  story  is  strongly  told."—  Independent. 

"A  strong  story  which  leaves  the  reader  better  for  the  perusal.  A  touchlight,  as 
Barrie's  carries  one  through  the  successive  scenes,  which  are  fraught  with  deep  interest.** 

—Public  Lbugbr. 

LONGMANS,  GEEEN,  &  00.,  15  EAST  16th  STREET,  NEW  YORK. 


DARKNESS  AND    DAWN^ 

OR,  SCENES   IN   THE  DAYS   OF   NERO. 

AN   HISTORIC  TALE. 

By  FREDERIC  W.   FARRAR,   D.D., 

ARCHDEACON   OF  WESTMINSTER,  AUTHOR  OF  "  THE   LIFE  OF  CHRIST,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


Larere   Crown  8vo,  594  Pages,  Cloth,  Gilt  Top,  $2.00. 


"  A  book  which  must  unhesitatingly  be  classed  as  one  of  the  most  brilliant  historical 
tales  of  the  century.     .     .     ." — Boston  15eacon. 

"  No  novel  could  be  more  fascinating,  and  few  historical  or  theological  works  more 
accurate  or  more  useful,  than  this  '  historic  tale.'  Brilliant  and  truthful  descriptions  of  tlie 
hfe  in  the  Imperial  pahices  of  Rome."— Church  Timf.s. 

"  As  a  study  of  Ancient  Roman  life  and  character  it  is  masterly,  the  events  being  his- 
torically authentic  and  the  scenes  st.-irtlingly  real.  The  martyrdoms  of  Christians  in  the 
Amphi-theatre  and  the  illumination  of  Rome  by  their  burning  are  vividly  portrayed,  and  the 
intention  of  the  book  commendable."— Philauelphia  PriiSbvtekian. 

"It  is  the  ablest  contribution  to  historical  fiction  that  has  been  made  in  many  years,  and 
it  deserves  to  rank  with  •  Ben  Hur  '  as  a  vivid  picture  of  the  past." 

— San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  The  work  is  done  with  notable  breadth  of  stroke  and  uncommon  vigor  of  coloring 
.    .    .    it  is  all  very  real  and  engaging.     .     .     ." — ^1'he  Independent; 

"The  simple  power  and  beauty  of  Christianity  are  rendered  impressively  real,  and  the 
heroism  of  even  humble  believers  nerves  and  inspires  to  nobler  living  now.  The  story  is  sure 
of  a  wide  reading  and  cannot  but  do  good." — Boston  Congkegationalist. 

"This  is  a  book  of  absorbing  interest.  It  is  not  a  novel,  nor  is  it  to  be  judged  by  such 
a  standard.  The  story  is  based  on  the  most  reliable  historic  facts.  The  brilliant  author 
takes  his  reader  through  the  darkness  of  a  decadent  paganism  into  the  dawn  of  Christianity." 

— Buffalo  Christian  Advocate. 

"  This  book  is  in  Archdeacon  Farrar's  best  style,  and  the  story,  even  in  its  driest  historical 
portions,  is  told  with  that  fascinating  interest  which  his  many  readers  are  familiar  with. 

"  We  think  that  no  one  can  read  this  historical  tale  without  interest,  and  that  every 
one  who  reads  it  will  turn  to  the  contemporary  writings  of  the  great  apostle  with  an 
awakened  understanding  of  the  circumstances  which  called  these  writings  forth." 

— The  Churchman,  N.  Y. 

••  A  picture  not  only  of  intense  interest,  but  of  the  greatest  historic  value.  .  .  . 
Its  clear  and  vivid  style,  together  with  its  delineation  of  character,  make  it  a  book  not  only  of 
interest  but  importance.     It  is  neatly  bound  and  printed  in  large  type." 

— Nassau  Literary  Magazine. 

"  'i  he  work  is  characterized  by  learning,  graphic  skill,  and  a  rare  naturalness,  and 
the  historical  elements  may  generally  be  depended  upon." — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

"  Written  with  accuracy  of  detail  and  great  power  of  description.  .  .  .  A  serious 
purpose  inspired  this  book — an  intention  to  show  the  secret  of  the  triumph  of  Christianity." 

— Christian  Union. 

"The  book  is  quite  voluminous,  but  apart  from  its  literary  excellence  the  story  is  one 
of  the  most  thrilling  interest,  so  that  its  length  is  a  rare  virtue  rather  than  a  detraction." 

— N.  Y.  Times. 

"  A  novel  of  considerable  magnitude  and  decided  interest  .  .  .  it  has  all  the  marks 
of  Dr.  Farrar's  ripe  historical  culture."— The  Book  Buyer. 

"The  reading  of  this  noble  volume  will  give  anyone  new  conceptions  of  life  at  t^i 
beginning  of  our  era,  and  new  reverence  for  religion  that  made  its  way,  unaided  by  the 
sword  or  political  influence,  through  the  debris  of  a  falling  civilization." — Public  Opinion. 

"This  book  .  .  .  has  more  than  a  novel's  interest  .  .  .  and  the  treatment  of 
all  sacred  subjects  reverent."— N.  Y.  Obsekver. 


LONaMAUS,  GREEN,  &  00.,  Publisliers,  15  East  leth  St..  Uew  York. 


YB  74162 


MITH  &  SONS. 


